


Forever Young

by therobotjay



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Child On Child Violence, Dark Peter Pan, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Maybe The Real Crocodile Was The Friends We Made Along The Way, Mind Manipulation, No Lost Girls, Peter Pan Did Nothing Wrong, Peter Pan is a Little Shit, Pining, Possessive Peter Pan, Sad Captain Hook, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-09 00:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therobotjay/pseuds/therobotjay
Summary: Captain James Hook has finally escaped the clutches of the evil faerie, Peter Pan, to start his life over in the real world. Far away from the violence and excitement of Neverland, he finds himself without direction or purpose.Back in Neverland, Pan is at a loss. Without his rival to entertain him, the boredom of his eternal existence begins to gnaw at him.Meanwhile, one of the Lost Boys, Iggy, is forced into the position of de facto leader, in order to protect his adopted family from the wrath of their bored and cruel elfin keeper. As he grows closer to Peter, he begins to see the creature for what he truly is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prologue_

The _Jolly Roger_ eased into port, far from home and looking very out of place.

On its deck, a crew swarmed. A rag-tag bunch made up of men of all shapes and sizes scurried about, manning the sails and dropping the hefty anchor into the gently tossing waters below.

A confused-looking man made his way down the dock, eyeing the massive ship with a certain wariness. Among the power boats and small yachts, the creaking wooden vessel was a sight to behold.

Even more than the ship itself, its Captain was a sight.

Standing tall and proud on the bow with a spyglass in one hand, Hook looked out over the other ships in port. One dark eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Well, men, it doesn’t look like we’ll have any competition in _these_ waters!” he shouted.

The pirates on the _Jolly Roger_ ’s deck laughed heartily, even as they attended their duties. The sails furled into their places at the height of each of the three masts. The anchor’s chain lost its tautness as the weight hit the sea floor.

With a careless swish of his coat, one that had clearly started its life modeled after a military jacket and somehow lost its way, Hook leapt down onto the deck to lend his one good hand to the task of securing the ship to the moorings.

The poor dockworker was peering up at the men on the ship, wondering silently if these men were in town for some sort of Renaissance Faire or something. Eventually, he worked up the nerve to shout, “Hey! What’re you doing?”

Hook leaned over the side of his ship. With a laugh, he said, “We’re a bit late, I admit, but…” He glanced over his shoulder at his men before turning back to the dockworker with a smile. “...we’re coming home.”


	2. Chapter 2

The woods were dark, foreboding, filled with ominous sounds and the feeling of being watched. Pounding through them, running hard with the air of someone fleeing for their life, was an adolescent young man. His heart fluttered in his chest, a cramp twisted in his side, snot poured out of his nose with each gasping, labored breath.

He bounded over fallen tree trunks, dodged half-buried stones, ducked under low-hanging branches, all while darting glances over his shoulder every few yards.

Nothing. There was nothing behind him.

At least, nothing that wasn’t all around him.

The trees themselves seemed to have eyes. Their leaves whispered secrets that their roots ferreted out.

_He tires of you_ , they said, rustling softly.

The boy choked back a sob. Crying would only make him lose his breath faster and he was so close, so close, to the shore. Once he made it to the beach, maybe, if luck was with him, perhaps the _Jolly Roger_ would be within hailing distance. Just maybe he could make it.

Of course, the skull-and-crossbones sails hadn’t been seen in months.

But he had to hope.

The undergrowth was getting thinner, the loamy forest soil turning sandy. His legs shook with the sudden wave of relief. Still, there was nothing behind him. Just the woods that had been his home for nearly a decade, where he had laughed and played with the others.

Suddenly, his foot slid on sand. He nearly toppled but caught himself.

His eyes scanned the horizon in desperation, darting to and fro, searching for the distinct shape of Hook’s pirate ship.

But there was nothing.

Just unbroken ocean.

The waves lapped at the shore.

_He’s coming_ , they murmured. They beckoned him, invitingly, offering him a way out.

The boy nodded. Tears slid down his face unchecked. The sobs that he’d been holding back finally came, wracking his thin chest. If the _Jolly Roger_ wasn’t there, he was out of options. At least drowning would be a clean death, one he chose, instead of staying to be _his_ plaything.

The waves pulled at his ankles, drawing him in with promises of freedom.

He was ready, he told himself, even as his sobs choked him. At this, the moment of his resolution, it all came crashing back to him.

He missed his family. His mother, his father, even his bratty little sister. He missed getting tucked in at night. He missed Sunday breakfasts and helping with the horses and doing his sums for school. He missed the way his mother would scold him for tracking mud into the house and the way his father would cuff him if he misbehaved. He even missed his stupid sister constantly begging him to play dolls with her. Suddenly, he realized that they had done those things out of love.

Why had he ever run away?

A mighty yawn came from his left. He turned.

There, sprawled quite leisurely across a large chunk of driftwood, was a young man with an unruly mop of dirty blonde hair, dressed in a jerkin and leggings the same deep green of the forest.

The boy stumbled away from him, his eyes wide with fear. “No, please, I swear, I wasn’t trying to leave, I wasn’t…”

Peter Pan held up one hand for silence, which he received instantly. He smirked, his elvish features going from timelessly beautiful to sinister in that one simple motion.

Pan sat up, stretching his arms over his head, and yawned again.

“You bore me,” he said simply.

“No!” the boy shouted, his voice trembling. “No, no, please! I’m sorry, Peter! I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry! Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, please!”

Pan arched a sandy eyebrow at the boy. “Don’t be stupid, Oliver. There’s nothing you _can_ do. Once I’ve lost interest in something…” He stretched again and tucked his legs underneath him then waved one elegant, long-fingered hand dismissively. “...it will never capture me again. You bore me. You didn’t even make for a good chase through the woods. What’s the _point_ of you?”

Oliver fell to his knees in the surf. He knew that if he ran now, even into the welcoming embrace of the watery depths, Peter would drag him back. No one was allowed to leave the island without his permission, even in death. “Please, Peter, we’ve been friends! I’ve been loyal to you, completely!”

Pan tilted his head. “Is that why you ran _here_ , looking for that _pirate_?” He rose to his feet in one smooth motion, sneering down at the snivelling boy. “Did you hope he could save you, Oliver? That he would _rescue_ you? You’re boring _and_ you’re a traitor!” He pointed at the cowering figure, a gesture of condemnation. “Two inexcusable offenses!”

Oliver knew he was lost. It was over. He covered his face with his hands and wept.

Pan sighed. “ _This_ isn’t even fun. How disappointing.” He gestured dismissively.

A loud crack echoed along the beach.

Oliver, his neck at an odd angle, fell silent. His body slumped forward. The waves washed over him, slowly pulling him into their depths.

_He loved you_ , they murmured even as tugged at the body, eager to claim their treasure.

“He feared me. It’s not the same.” Pan sat down in the sand and let the frothing waves caress his bare toes. “Plus, he got old. Can you believe the audacity?”

_They can’t help it_ , murmured the waves. They pushed a little further on to the shore, tickling the bottom of Pan’s feet and pulling poor, broken Oliver with more force.

Pan folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “That’s hardly my fault! They should learn to.” He kicked at the water before standing and stalking off into the woods.

***

Most of the older Lost Boys sat in silence around the campfire. Some of the younger children were playing near the treeline. Ones that didn’t know what was happening, the lucky ones who had never seen one of their number try to escape. Had never seen Peter grow tired of one of his gang of misfits.

That was almost worse than a runner. When one of them didn’t realize what was about to happen to him.

The one who had ran tonight had been the oldest of the Boys, nearly sixteen, as far as they could reckon. It was hard to tell, sometimes. Peter tended to take children young, around five or six, young enough to have years to enjoy with them but old enough to where they didn’t need their nappies changed or anything.

Plus, time moved a little differently in Neverland.

Oliver had been their leader for a few years. Ever since the last runner. The older boys were already thinking of him in the past tense. He was dead, hopefully. If he wasn’t yet, he’d be wishing he was.

One of the younger boys tugged at an older boy’s sleeve. “When’s Oliver coming back? He always leads the games.”

The next-oldest boy, oldest now, stood. He squared his shoulders, which were just starting to broaden. His fiery-red hair, kept short, caught the firelight. That hair was likely why his mother had given him the ridiculous name Ignatius, though he couldn’t remember his mother and everyone called him Iggy anyway. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Oliver isn’t coming back. And the lot of you should get used to it because…” His voice hitched a little. Oliver had been his friend. He cleared his throat again and dashed his hand across his face, wiping away a tear that had snuck out of one eye. “Because he’s not coming back.” He held his head high, knowing that he was dooming himself, but he was doomed anyway, and that’s just the way things were. “I’ll lead the games now, if you’d like.”

A couple of the small children clapped but it was cut short by another of the older boys, Quinn. His low chuckle helped the crackling fire fill the sudden silence.

“You?” Quinn shook his head and stood, lazily resting his club on his shoulder. “You’re getting a bit boring yourself, aren’t you, Iggy?” He grinned. “I figure you’ll pull a runner yourself in a few months.”

It was true, Quinn was a year younger than Iggy, so he had more time. But it had always been Lost Boy tradition that the oldest led the games until…

Iggy crossed the camp and shoved the other boy. “I’m not going to run,” he growled, even though he didn’t know in his heart if he could make good on that statement.

Quinn’s grin didn’t falter. “Yeah, you are. You’re going run off with your tail between your legs because you’re not a true Believer. You lost your faith.”

“We’ll see how your faith is holding up in a year or two.” Iggy looked down at the other boy, who was still smiling, a dare in his eyes. Iggy’s hand moved to his belt, where his dagger was sheathed, ready to make an example for the rest of the Boys.

Peter strode into the clearing, looking cheerful, humming to himself. He stopped when he saw the confrontation in progress.

Everyone froze.

With a chuckle, Peter sat on one of the rocks near the fire. “If you two were about to try to kill each other, don’t let me stop you,” he said. He waved a hand and a glass appeared in it, filled with bluish liquid. He took a sip, nodded in a satisfied fashion, then gestured with the cup. “Go on, then. It will be tonight’s entertainment!”

The little boys clapped and hollered, crowding around Peter, sitting on the ground near his feet. He reached out his free hand to ruffle the messy hair of a few of them, smiling down at their chubby, upturned faces like a benevolent god.

The older boys cheered too, but they kept a respectful distance from their leader.

Iggy swallowed. He hadn’t expected Peter to join the audience. That changed the stakes. A tussle between two adolescent boys was rarely artful and generally over quickly. With Peter watching, though, they had to put on a show.

Quinn nodded his head in Peter’s direction and pounded one fist on his chest in salute. Then, without hesitation, he swung his club off his shoulder and at the other boy’s head. Iggy dodged the blow with ease, but that was the point. If the fight was over within seconds, they would both be punished.

Springing away from the other boy, Iggy drew his dagger. It was unpolished and well-worn but as sharp as a razor. He needed to blood the other boy, at least. Peter loved the sight of blood.

“Come on, coward! Unless you’re planning on running now?” Quinn laughed, swinging his club back and forth with ease.

Iggy darted a look at Peter and wasn’t at all comfortable with the way his head was tilted, his eyebrow quirked in interest.

“I’m _not_ going to _run_ ,” Iggy managed through gritted teeth, lunging at the smaller boy with his free hand outstretched. Quinn clearly expected him to lead with his weapon so his block was aimed low to deflect. Instead, Iggy grabbed a handful of his dark hair and yanked, pulling the other boy’s head down to meet his knee.

There was a crunch and blood poured from Quinn’s nose. He swayed for a moment before jerking himself upright, leaving a tuft of his hair in the taller boy’s fingers. He grinned, letting his blood flow into his smile, painting his teeth red. His voice slightly nasal, he said, “Looks like you have some fight left in you after all.”

Iggy’s heart pounded in his ears and heat rushed to his cheeks. Like all of the Lost Boys, he’d been raised to fight, to struggle, to enjoy violence. His sadness at the death of his friend, fear of his own inevitable fate, it was all washed away. The other boy’s blood on his knee, soaking through his thin pants, felt cold and sticky and _right_.

Behind him, Peter smiled.

The two boys fell upon each other with fury. They had both been encouraged to settle conflicts with bloodshed since they were very young. They both had years of experience as a result. They dodged each other’s strikes with ease, lunging and weaving in the firelight. Seconds slid by that felt like minutes, blood was drawn by both. Their fight turned into a sort of primal dance at the fireside as their minds shut down and their instincts took over. Orange, flickering light painted their blood black and shimmering.

The Lost Boys were chanting wordlessly, stomping their feet in time with the ebb and flow of the fight, shouting and cheering when one of the combatants was injured.

Pan sat silently through it all, absentmindedly patting the small children that looked up at him for approval as they screamed encouragement at the violence, a small, sadistic smile playing on his lips.

Finally, Iggy’s size and experience won out. He’d been taken younger than most of the boys, after all. That extra couple of years gave him an edge. He dug a knee into Quinn’s back and pulled the smaller boy’s head back at an angle with his fist bunched in his dark hair. Iggy’s blade rested against the other boy’s throat, just hard enough to draw a thin line of crimson. His head still foggy, he looked up at Peter, as he had many times before, looking for approval, thirsty for recognition, desperate to see the elven boy rise to his feet and applaud.

Pan nodded and unfolded his long legs underneath him, standing on the stone where he’d been seated. The small boys at his feet cowered back unconsciously. Slowly, Pan brought his hands together, clapping softly, the sound like rustling aspen leaves.

Iggy grinned, reopening his split lip. He released Quinn, who rolled from under him immediately, glaring and angry.

Pan made a beckoning gesture with his drink and stepped down from the stone. Children scattered out of the way of his feet. Iggy approached, his heart filled with warmth, already questioning why he’d ever been afraid. 

Pan handed him the glass and stepped close, running his long fingers through the boy’s red hair. He brought his lips very close to Iggy’s ear, making the boy shiver. “There now. Drink up, you’ve earned it.”

The liquid tasted both sugary and salty, like sea water mixed with nectar. It stung his split lip but wasn’t unpleasant. Iggy was used to the taste. Only boys that were winners, loyal and entertaining, got to drink from Peter’s cup. Iggy hadn’t gotten to be the oldest Lost Boy by being a loser. Or a coward. Or boring.

Peter’s mouth was still so close that Iggy could feel his breath.

“You would never run from me, would you, Ignatius? I know that.” Pan’s left hand came to rest on the center of the boy’s chest, its touch as light as butterfly feet. “I know that your heart beats with loyalty and gratitude.”

Iggy nodded. He could almost feel the bluish liquid coiling in his stomach before spreading outward, filling him with warmth and acceptance, love and thankfulness. Oliver was forgotten. Fear was forgotten. All he wanted was Peter’s approval and he had earned it, this small show of affection. He smiled, daring to lean forward just an inch, just enough to catch the scent of Peter’s hair.

He couldn’t see the self-satisfied grin on Pan’s elvish features.

Peter stepped back and was immediately surrounded by children clamouring for his attention, begging for a drink. He chuckled and waved them off, happy and surrounded by his Boys.

Iggy felt cold without Peter that close but he was pleased with himself. He’d proven his loyalty again and had been rewarded. Why had he even been scared in the first place? What had his fight with Quinn been about?

In his distraction, and the commotion around the campfire, he didn’t hear Quinn behind him or the _swoosh_ of his club cutting through the air.

Pain exploded at the back of his head and everything went black. The last thing he heard was Peter’s laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been months since Hook had left Neverland. He’d finally found a way, after all those years, to escape the clutches of the evil little imp that held sway over the place. He was doing alright in the magicless, mundane realm he and his crew had found their way to.

Most of the crew had taken jobs down at the docks, doing the things they knew best. One of them, a large lad who’d always missed the violence and bloodshed of being one of the Lost Boys, became an underground cage fighter to great success. A couple of the more gentle of the crew, men that Pan had never fully broken or who had run young, took normal jobs in the city. Another was going to college for some sort of art degree.

Hook, well, Hook had never been the type to stay in any one place for long. He’d said his goodbyes with feeling, he would miss his crew, but he knew that they were better off not sticking with an old pirate. They’d had their youth stolen from them, it was only fair that they get back to the lives they could’ve had if Pan hadn’t flown in through their windows with promises of magic and everlasting fun.

That had been longer ago for Hook than the rest. He’d been kidnapped by Pan as well, just like any of the other Lost Boys. But unlike the rest of the runners, he’d kept Pan’s trust while he planned his escape. The demon hadn’t realized his duplicity until he was waving from the deck of his first small boat, out of _his_ reach.

His only mistake, one that he couldn’t have known at the time he was taken from his family, was giving his true name to the charming, elven young man darting around his room.

And with it, Peter Pan had cursed him. He would reach adulthood, boring and awful adulthood, but there he would remain. Never growing into old age, never dying of natural causes, so that Pan could hunt him for all his days. James Hook would never know rest, never know comfort. At least, that’s what the enraged words that floated in on the waves had said.

Pan thought it was quite impossible to be happy alone, much less as an adult.

After a few weeks of sailing the sea off the coast of Neverland, Hook had been inclined to agree with him. He knew how to survive, he wasn’t uncomfortable. He’d found a small island, out of Pan’s sight, that had fresh water and trees. There, he set about building the _Jolly Roger_. He’d been a shipwright’s son before Pan took him and, outside of the imp’s influence, he remembered some of what his father had showed him and made up the rest.

Hook had always been a person whose bravery and flair had been tempered by a sense of self-preservation, even though his confidence was astounding and sometimes outweighed his common sense.

It was after too many days in the sun and too many glasses of his homemade (or cavemade, as it were) wine that he decided to raid Neverland. To rescue his friends.

He only made it out with two of the boys.

The others had all died.

Runners had been hunted down by the more loyal Lost Boys, who in turn were killed in a rage by Pan himself.

The two boys, a chubby blonde child and a tanned, handsome adolescent, were the first members of Hook’s pirate crew. Smee and Tock did their best to man the ship while Hook thought that, perhaps, he shouldn’t have built a ship big enough to need a crew.

These memories, among others, haunted Hook’s dreams as he slept in his studio apartment in New York, which he paid for doing odd jobs and rented on a monthly basis. He refused to dress like the other people that inhabited this dreary world, instead keeping his pirate’s coat and boots. He did, however, concede that the hat was perhaps a bit much, and it rested on top of his dresser.

It was very early in the morning, before the sun had really decided to show itself, that he awoke suddenly, panting and sweating. A dream, more vivid than any he’d ever had, left an impression on his waking mind. Some poor lad standing on the beach, looking for his ship, scared and alone. And Pan, striking him down.

Hook was a pirate, he reminded himself. And, as a pirate, he was beholden to no one but himself, his ship, and his crew. His ship was in drydock and his crew had scattered to the four winds. He didn’t owe anyone anything.

But that boy’s shaking voice, begging for his life in the face of someone as cold and implacable as Pan…

Hook knew that if he’d been there, the boy would still be alive. He’d have had to make another bunk down in the crew quarters and taught yet another scared, angry, nearly feral child how to cook and clean. But the kid would be alive.

He stood and crossed to the sink, splashing water on his face.

With the light of dawn, the horror of the dream faded. Hook didn’t for one instant assume that it was just a dream, he knew that he’d seen Pan kill that boy. He also knew that Pan had wanted him to see it. Somehow the little imp, or faerie, or whatever he was had known that Hook was no longer near and wanted to punish him.

Sighing, he pulled on clothes and headed out into the bustling city to sing for his supper.

***

That night found Hook bartending at a hole-in-the-wall type pub, after going behind the bar to help himself to a bottle of rum and being accosted by a customer for a mojito. Five drinks (and several tips) later, the owner of the bar realized that he wasn’t an employee but they were short-staffed and he was doing a good job, “plus, the hook is a fun touch”, so Hook found himself employed.

He didn’t mind. It was better than some of the other jobs he’d done and paid far better than most. Though he did notice that the other bartenders weren’t getting tipped nearly as well.

Apparently being incredibly handsome and dashing came in handy in this industry. Hook was a natural flirt, something that had made him an outcast on an island full of adolescent boys. It was easy for him to turn that ability on any customer that smiled in his direction, and a few that didn’t.

At two in the morning, he left with a pocket full of more money than he’d seen since landing in this strange place. He thought briefly about starting a banking account, something that one of the other Neverland escapees had told him about, but immediately dismissed the idea. He was a _pirate_ and pirates did _not_ having banking accounts.

Other than Gilly, who was going by George now and was attending school to become an accountant.

Gilly had never had the sea in his veins, though.

Hook, on the other hand, was quite certain that his blood tasted of brine.

When he returned to his apartment, he put his money under his mattress, as was proper.

***

He didn’t dream that night. Or the one after. Or the one after that. Weeks went by in a blur of restless nights and busy days. The owner of the bar made Hook the head bartender. The handsome pirate was pulling in more business with his roguish smiles and unusual accent than the bar had seen in years.

The owner had even gone so far as to capitalize on Hook’s distinctive look and hung a new sign above the front door. It was hand-painted on a piece of driftwood purchased from Pottery Barn and it read ‘ _The Crow’s Nest Pub_ ’, with a skull and bones painted underneath.

Hook wanted to be offended.

But, if he was honest with himself, he was having fun.

One slow Tuesday evening, a woman walked into The Crow’s Nest with the look of someone that didn’t belong. She caught his eye immediately. She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense but she was _striking_ , something the pirate valued much more than an hourglass figure.

She sat at the bar, her feet not quite touching the floor and her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his.

“A strawberry daiquiri,” she said, then gave her attention to the television screen above his head, where bar trivia was being displayed.

While he made the woman’s drink, Hook looked her over. Short, pixie-ish white-blonde hair, clearly not her natural color as she had dark roots beginning to show. Big, gray eyes and freckles gave her a youthful, somewhat doe-eyed look, despite her carriage and attitude projecting something completely different.

“Newfoundland,” she said, quietly.

Hook wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly over the blender. “Hm?”

She gestured at the television without looking in his direction. “What Canadian island blocks the mouth of the Saint Lawrence River?”

“Hell if I know, darling,” he replied cheerfully, smiling in her direction and being completely ignored. He sat her drink in front of her with a shrug.

Other customers were clamoring for attention. A couple of beers, a margarita (thankfully not frozen), a few shots of flavored vodka for a group of college students.

Through the clamor, the woman’s voice distinctly said, “Captain Hook.”

Without even considering the oddness of it, or the fact that he hadn’t even introduced himself, Hook floated over and leaned on the bar, smiling invitingly. “Yes, love?” he purred.

She gave him a strange look and pointed at the television. “The trivia question. Who was the villain in Disney’s ‘Peter Pan’?”

A series of feelings shot through Hook. Shock, dread, confusion, then finally…

He leaned across the bar, glaring up at the television. The quiz question had already changed. “The _villain_?” he asked indignantly.

The woman finally looked at him, her dark eyes roving over his entire appearance, twinkling with amusement. “I suppose, if you want to get technical, the actual villain was Wendy’s opposition to growing up. But that’s what Captain Hook represented, really.”

Hook harrumphed. “That’s ridiculous,” he grumbled. “Completely and utterly ridiculous. No wonder it’s so easy to convince children from this world that Neverland is a place they’d like to go. Propaganda, that’s what it is! Not that I’m surprised, that conniving little…” He trailed off, not wanting to spout off a series of expletives in front of an attractive woman.

The woman in question laughed. “Why in the world are you taking it so seriously? It’s just a cartoon.”

Perhaps thinking that he’d impress her, or perhaps simply not caring about anything but clearing his name, Hook turned his gaze up to full smolder and said, “Because I’m Captain Hook, love.”

“You’re Captain Hook,” she repeated, deadpan.

“Indeed,” he said, low and inviting.

She looked him over again, with more of an appraising eye. He was either far too into the character that he was playing for his job or was completely off his rocker. He was, however, very attractive. Attractive enough to make up for either, really. He didn’t seem violent or unbalanced, just...disconnected with reality.

With a smile, daring herself, she said, “I’m Beth. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

Encouraged, Hook replied, “It hasn’t been much of a pleasure yet, love, but I’d like to change that.”

Keeping as straight of a face as she could, caught between wanting to laugh and wondering what the hell she was even thinking, Beth leaned forward. “Maybe later you could show me your Jolly Roger.”

A look of confusion crinkled Hook’s brow. “She’s in dry dock at the moment so I’m afraid she’s not much of a sight to see right now. Didn’t want to leave her collecting barnacles in the port while I’m here in this city.”

One of Beth’s eyebrows arched delicately. “I didn’t mean your ship, Captain.”

“If you didn’t mean my ship, then…” Hook’s eyes widened for half a second, as comprehension dawned. His cheeks darkened, ever so slightly. He was unused to the idea of a lady being so straightforward. “I think that could be arranged.”

Beth grinned. “And if you’re Captain Hook, maybe I could be Peter Pan…” She cut off abruptly at the look on the pirate’s face.

He stood up straight and glared down at the woman. “No. Don’t even joke about such things.”

“Relax, Cap. It’s just a fairy tale.”

Hook tilted his head, a gesture he’d picked up from Pan quite subconsciously. “At least you realize what he is, I suppose. Though he acts more like a demon than a faerie. He’s not just a tale, though. He’s real and evil and I won’t hear jokes made about him.”

“Right, sure,” Beth replied, wondering if maybe he was a little too crazy to go home with after all. But as soon as the subject of Peter Pan was dropped, he went back to being a flirty pirate. “Listen, I’ll let you get back to work but...what time do you get off?”

“Shortly after we get back to my place, hopefully,” Hook said with a grin.

Beth rolled her eyes. “I’ll be back around two,” she said, sliding off of her barstool and leaving without paying for her drink.

Hook wasn’t even upset that he had to pay for the half-drank glass of sugary garbage. It showed moxie. He liked moxie.

***

Dawn brought beams of newly minted sunshine through the uncovered window in Hook’s apartment, acting like a natural alarm clock. He rolled over, stretching, quite used to waking up at the crack of dawn, and blindly reached for the woman who’d shared his bed but a few hours prior.

Beth was nowhere to be found.

Which struck the pirate as odd, since he usually slept very lightly. Perhaps their lovemaking had worn him out more than he was used to.

He rolled in the other direction, rubbing his eyes with the stump of his wrist while he felt around for his hook. On top of it was a scrap of paper, which he brought to his face.

“Had fun,” it read in strangely flowing script, “Do it again sometime. Beth.”

The lack of a phone number or any means of contacting her only made her more intriguing. Hook was smitten.

It was still strange to him, the idea that he wasn’t being hunted. That he could just have a job and a life, that he could flirt and make love, without having to worry about pulling up anchor in a rush to escape the demon boy or the mermaids or the pixies or one of the Lost Boys sent for his head.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. It felt like the first time the Jolly Roger had been caught in a storm and blown far out to sea. Hook had still been alone, then. He had stood on the deck of the original _Jolly Roger_ , who had been smaller and only had one sail, and stared out at the unending waters in all directions, no sign of land apparent. He’d known that once the sun set, he’d be able to navigate by the stars. He’d been in no danger. But floating in the middle of the unmarked sea, alone and adrift, had made him feel lost and directionless for the first time in his life.

That was how he felt now.

His job was...passable. It was fun. He enjoyed flirting and chatting with the locals and making money (and drinking on the job), but it was directionless. There was nowhere to go and it wasn’t as if it was teaching him new skills, only honing ones he already possessed.

His apartment was...acceptable. It was bigger than he was used to, since the belly of the Jolly Roger hadn’t originally been fitted for crew quarters that could house dozens. Those had been added later, with Hook giving up both his own spacious bunk and a fair amount of the ship’s storage in order to keep the escaped Lost Boys safe.

Thinking of the runners brought back the horrible imagery from his nightmare vision. That poor child, so frightened. He’d seen Pan for what he truly was and ran for the beach, hoping that Hook would be there.

The pirate couldn’t help but feel that he’d let that lad down.

Certainly, other runners had died at Pan’s behest while searching for the ship that was rumored to haunt the seas. Hook knew he couldn’t save every boy. If he remained in the cove for too long, the mermaids or Pan himself would see to it that his ship sunk. Then the mermaids would’ve made quick work of the crew that didn’t drown. It wasn’t worth sacrificing everything he’d worked for just in case some child decided he’d had enough.

But knowing that he’d left Neverland entirely, that he’d turned his back on the Lost Boys that were still in Pan’s clutches and those that would be taken from their homes to replace any that died…

It haunted him.


	4. Chapter 4

Iggy awoke with the worst headache he’d ever had in his life. His skull felt like it was splitting open, which it obviously wasn’t because he was alive, but it felt like it.

He moved to sit up, only to have a hand with a touch like butterfly feet rest on his shoulder.

“Don’t try to move just yet. You’re still not well.” Peter’s voice was soft and musical, like it was when he was calm. He stepped into Iggy’s line of sight and sat on the floor next to the low cot the boy was occupying. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit in the head with a club,” said Iggy, his voice rusty with disuse after days of unconsciousness.

Peter laughed. “That’s because you did,” he said. His long fingers pushed the boy’s hair back, off of his damp forehead.

Suddenly Iggy felt a stab of fear. If he was alive, then… “What happened to Quinn?”

“He’s dead,” Peter said, still smiling serenely. He tilted his head. “Or, at least, he probably is by now. I dropped him on Skull Rock and you know how the creatures there get. He’s probably in a million pieces, scattered all over the island.”

Now that the flush of battle had long since faded, Iggy found that he hadn’t really wanted anything bad to happen to Quinn. Sure, the kid was a brat, and was completely blind to...to something. He had been blind to something. “He was loyal to you,” Iggy said softly, feeling a little confused. That blow to the head must’ve shaken him up more than he thought.

Peter nodded sadly. “He was. And he let his anger at his loss overshadow his loyalty.”

Iggy knew then that it wasn’t the fact that Quinn had attacked him from behind that upset Peter. It was that Peter had shown him favor and Quinn had taken an action that undermined that showing.

“There are few things worse than a sore loser, Ignatius.” Peter grinned at the boy. “That’s why I’m sure to always win. It’s much easier that way.”

***

Life went back to normal for the Lost Boys. Or, at least, as normal as it got in Neverland. Iggy took over leading the games and, with the absence of both Oliver and Quinn, they waited expectantly for a pair of new arrivals to fill the gap in their ranks. The belongings of the two dead boys were redistributed among the lads still in the camp, with the exception of their weapons. Quinn’s club and Oliver’s spear were set aside, awaiting their gifting to the new children.

But weeks passed and no new children came.

Peter himself seemed uncharacteristically brooding. He spent most of his time in his thinking tree, playing the flute or throwing rocks at any living thing that came near, which included birds, arboreal rodents, and the Lost Boys.

Iggy dodged a rather sharp stone that had been lobbed directly at his head. It was against his better judgment to try to speak to an angry woodland faerie but it had been put to a vote among the older boys. That is to say, Iggy drew the short straw.

While there was plenty to eat and fresh water galore on the island, the younger boys were getting restless without Peter’s commanding presence and, frankly, the motley group of older boys weren’t really equipped to deal with tantrums and crying fits. Some of the smaller boys were even sobbing for their parents, something that Iggy had never seen in the years he’d been on the island.

“Peter,” he called, hands cupped around his mouth.

Peter’s face appeared, peering through the foliage. Another rock came whizzing through the air, which Iggy ducked out of the way of.

Iggy sighed. “Peter Pan, please listen to me. I know you don’t wish to be disturbed…”

“Then why are you being disturbing?” Peter’s voice floated down from the tree.

“The Lost Boys, well, they’re misbehaving. And the other lads and I can’t handle them.” Iggy braced himself for harsh words, or another rock.

“So? Isn’t that the point of Neverland? That there are no rules, so there’s no misbehavior?” Peter’s legs swung over the tree branch he’d been lying on and he leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees and rest his chin in his hands.

Iggy knew that wasn’t really true. Neverland _did_ have rules, they just weren’t the rules of a normal place. No one cared if you chewed with your mouth open or if your feet were muddy or when the last time you brushed your hair was. But there were still rules. No talking about home, no talking about Hook or his pirates, and complete obedience to Peter Pan.

“Peter, the little ones, they’re crying all through the night. Without you there to make them feel safe, they’re scared and lonely. And they don’t listen to me,” said Iggy, trying to gauge the expression on that elvish face.

“Of course they don’t. And why should they? It’s not as if you’re their boss. They haven’t got a boss anymore, this is Neverland. There are no bosses here.” Peter’s feet began to kick back and forth, a sure sign that he was irritated. Or getting bored. Both could be deadly.

“No, no bosses, but they still need a leader. And that’s you, Peter. You’ve always been our leader and we need you.” Iggy poured all of the feeling he could into that sentiment. It was only a slight exaggeration. He and the older lads probably didn’t need a leader, exactly, but Peter had been such a constant in their lives that they were lost without him.

Peter’s legs stopped their restless motion. He crossed his arms for a moment and pouted. 

Iggy felt a stab of fear. The bottoms of his feet itched to run. But he stood straight and looked his fear in its perfect, fine-featured face.

Finally, Peter stepped off the branch, stomped one foot in annoyance on thin air, then floated gently down to stand in front of the boy. His bright green eyes carried his irritation and his voice was harsh with displeasure. “Fine. But don’t take this to mean that you’ve told me what to do. You can’t. No one can.”

Iggy nodded, still not breaking eye contact. He had the distinct impression that if he broke it, it would be seen as fear or submission, and he wouldn’t draw another breath. “Of course not, Peter. And I would never dream of trying. Thank you for helping me.”

Peter’s demeanor shifted in the blink of an eye. He smiled, head tilted, and reached up to touch Iggy’s hair. “You need me,” he said, his voice all music and sunshine once again.

“I do, and so do the other boys.” Iggy’s heart was pounding. He wasn’t sure what it was that always set his heart to racing when Peter was this close, fight or flight or something else entirely.

Peter’s head slowly tilted in the other direction, like an animal trying to pinpoint a sound. He nodded, smiled, and made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Yes, of course, _they_ need me. But that’s not what I’m talking about right now. _You_ need me.”

Iggy’s heart beat a little harder.

“You were thinking of running, I know that. You were afraid of what will happen, in a month, in a year, when you’re too old or too boring for me to keep around. I can feel the fear in you, Ignatius, just like I can feel it in every one of my Boys. But…” Peter’s next words were spoken in a taunting sing-song. “...I know something you don’t know.”

Voice barely above a whisper, Iggy managed, “What’s that?”

Peter circled around behind the boy and rested his chin on Iggy’s shoulder, his face uncomfortably close, his breath on the other boy’s neck. “You’re not afraid of me, not really. You are afraid of death, but everyone is, that’s why I decided never to die. But you’re not afraid of me. You fear displeasing me, which shows that you aren’t stupid, but that’s not what you fear most.”

Iggy swallowed. Peter’s words rang true and he hated it.

“You know that your end will come by my hands and that’s comforting, isn’t it? Knowing. You won’t die if I don’t will it. You’re safe from every awful thing in the whole world except for me. And I’m not really that awful, am I?” There was a strange, needy note in Peter’s voice, one that Iggy had never heard before.

When Iggy realized that the elfin boy was actually waiting for an answer, he said, “No, you’re not awful.”

Peter made a soft, satisfied sound of assent. “You’re not any more afraid of death than any other mortal, Ignatius.” His arm wrapped around the shoulder that his chin wasn’t resting on, his whisper-soft fingers trailing Iggy’s cheek. “Your greatest fear, one that I can see as plainly as the eyes on your face, is to continue living...without me.”

***

Pan returned to the camp, to his Boys.

They were in the middle of a tussle when he arrived, a couple of the older boys trying to stop a few of the smaller ones from running off into the forest. Their initially whispered threats, kept low to avoid drawing Peter’s attention, had risen to shouts.

“If you run, you’ll die!”

Pan swept into the camp and his presence flowed over the boys like a soothing balm. He picked up one of the smallest and held him, wiping the tears from his face. “Now, now, Tum Tum, don’t scare the lad,” he said, soft and musical. He held the little boy out at arm’s length and gave him a Look. “Tum Tum only means that the Dark Forest isn’t safe for such a small creature. Why are you crying, Dirk?”

Dirk sniffled and gasped, clearly trying to come back from hyperventilating. “I miss my mummy,” he whined, trembling, wriggling in Pan’s grasp.

Pan tutt-tutted. “Now that won’t do, will it? Is that what this is all about? You miss your mummies?” Dirk wiggled again then settled down, nodding. Pan placed the boy on the ground and turned on the others, hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“You miss your homes? Your mothers and fathers?” he asked.

The older boys kept their mouths shut and shook their heads, even though they had been feeling...not homesick, exactly. They didn’t remember their homes. But lonely, maybe.

The little ones, though, they crowded around Peter, nodding and crying.

Iggy, near the back of the group, cringed. This was about to turn into a bloodbath.

Tum Tum closed his eyes.

But Peter crouched down among the children and shook his head sadly. “You miss your parents, parents that didn’t love you? If they’d loved you, I never would’ve been able to take you. I only take unloved, unhappy children.” He scooped up Dirk, the boy that had been crying, and tossed him into the air. 

A swirl of greenish, sparkling magic surrounded the child, who hung suspended in midair. The boy looked frightened for a moment, then giggled, turning a somersault.

With a broad, sweeping gesture, Peter cast his magic on all of the small boys, letting them float a few feet off the ground. The clearing filled with the sound of laughter.

“And bring you here, to Neverland, where you’ll always be loved and never have to follow stupid rules again. Where there’s magic and you’ll never, ever have to grow old.” Peter put his hands on his hips and smiled up at the boys, who were giggling and cheering, their tears forgotten.

The elfin young man stood surveying his work for a few minutes, until the scattering of pixie dust started to fade. Even though the boys’ feet soon touched the ground, their spirits were high. They played around the campfire, throwing sticks at each other and having sudden games of tag.

Peter crossed the clearing to where his older boys stood, unsure if the danger had passed.

“Well, go play then,” he said, laughter in his musical voice.

The boys scattered.

Peter reached out and grabbed Iggy by the front of his shirt as he tried to beat a hasty escape. “Not you,” he said softly.

Iggy stopped immediately, looking down into Peter’s green-glass eyes, and fought the urge to slouch to even up their heights. He was only an inch or so taller than the elf, but it didn’t bode well.

Trying to make his voice as calm and even as possible, Iggy said, “Yes, Peter?”

Peter gave him a concerned look. “Are you happy again? Now that the children are back to their games?”

“I didn’t ask for your help for my own happiness, Peter. The camp…”

Peter cut him off with a finger to his lips. “Shhh. I’m not angry. I’m glad you came to get me. I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. It slips my mind...” He trailed off, looking mildly perplexed. But he rallied and added, “If I lose the Boys, I lose Neverland. And I won’t allow that to happen.”

Iggy had never seen Peter look perplexed. He didn’t like it.

***

Peter remained with his Lost Boys after that. He brought them candies and participated in (or at least watched) all of the games. He only snuck off to brood in his tree once they were asleep. Of course, the little ones woke up sometimes, or cried in their sleep, but the older boys were so used to the camp echoing with sobs that they slept right through it. They would stop eventually. They always did.

The older boys could see the difference in Peter, though.

Iggy thought he seemed distracted. That wasn’t unusual in itself. Peter was frequently distracted; by shiny rocks, a pretty flower, a leaping fish, a new idea, a game to play. This wasn’t like that, though. This was more abstract, like nothing was capable of holding his attention.

Afternoon found the boys playing leap-frog around the fire. Three times already, a boy had lost his balance and landed a hand or foot in the hot coals. The others would laugh at the injury until the game resumed.

Iggy had suggested the game but wasn’t participating. He stood near Peter’s side, far enough away to be respectful. 

Peter stared at the laughing boys, his mouth occasionally twitching into a smile before relaxing into its normal rose-petal shape. Every once in awhile, he’d reach down to pick up a stick or a rock to hurl at the boys. He was the direct cause of every stumble. That seemed to amuse him, at least. He laughed with the others each time one of the players fell into the fire. His laughter seemed to encourage the boys to wilder and wilder activities, soothing their pains and egging them on with the same breath.

Iggy was smart enough to know that there had been a dynamic shift. He didn’t like that either. But from his place at Peter’s side, standing with his arms crossed, eyes darting over the motley group of Lost Boys, he knew that he’d wordlessly accepted his new position within the ranks.

It was his job to keep Peter happy, defuse his temper, and keep the other boys safe.


	5. Chapter 5

Hook’s aimless drift through his new life left him feeling like a ship without a rudder.

Nights at the bar were his new routine, even when he wasn’t working. He got to know some of the regulars, thinking that they’d make a decent crew with some discipline and toughness. But as it were, they were a bunch of rowdy drunks with nothing better to do on a Tuesday night than get sloshed with their friends or acquaintances, new and old. It was pointless, a way of coasting through life to avoid the pain of living it.

Hook was by no means an advocate of sobriety but there were limits, even for a rum-soaked pirate.

His dreams had returned, which did make him feel better. He had been starting to worry about his mental state, sleeping dreamlessly every night. However, once he was back to having nighttime visions like a normal person, he was somehow not comforted.

Hook’s dreamscape had come to resemble Neverland. Night after night, he found himself back on the tumbling waters of the sea that surrounded the island. Murderous mermaids and psychopathic pixies were backdrop characters as he swordfought Peter Pan across the deck of his ship or ran through the Dark Forest with Lost Boys nipping at his heels.

Every morning, he awoke with his heart racing, but it wasn’t from fear.

It was excitement.

The thought began to tickle at his subconscious that he _missed_ his life of adventure and pursuit. That running from Pan, rescuing Lost Boys from his clutches, and caring for his crew had given him a purpose.

A purpose that was sadly lacking in his new life.

The day he realized this, Beth came strolling back into the Crow’s Nest, casual as could be, as if she hadn’t spent an evening of passion with him and then floated right out of his life like a ghost.

She slid on to the same barstool she’d occupied the first time she’d come in. This time, however, she ordered a hard lemonade and gave Hook a roguish smile.

“Hey, sailor,” she said, mischief in her voice. “Been a minute.”

“It’s been more than a minute, love,” replied Hook, his voice playful as he slid her drink to her. Of all the things in his new life, she was the only one that really intrigued him. 

Beth ran her teeth over her bottom lip. “I’d say I was sorry but I’d be lying.” She leaned forward, running her thumb over the mouth of her bottle. “I like you, _Captain_ , and I didn’t want to get bored of you yet.”

“Are you the type that bores easily?”

“Painfully easily.” In one motion, Beth drained her drink then grinned at Hook. “Let’s have an adventure.”

***

It was three in the morning and Captain Hook was giving a piggyback ride to a woman through Central Park.

Beth laughed, one arm wrapped around his neck, kicking her heels into his thighs to make him go faster. Suddenly, she tugged at his ponytail and he jerked to a halt, which unbalanced them and sent them tumbling onto the grass.

They rolled together, smiling and kissing, completely oblivious to the few others in the park. Hook was confident that he was equal to any that should try to harm them and the stares of strangers didn’t concern him. Let them look. Let every person in all of this new realm see how his heart swelled when he was with this strange, unruly woman.

“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Beth was saying between breaths.

“I’m crazy? You’re the one that came to my bar asking a pirate for an adventure,” said Hook. He pushed her white-blonde hair off of her forehead and rolled, pulling her on top of him.

Beth quirked an eyebrow at him. “Maybe someday you’ll take me for a real adventure. One with magic and pixies and…” She leaned in close and whispered, “...Peter Pan.”

Hook glared. “Either you’re intentionally mocking my wishes or you don’t believe me at all. Neither one is very nice.”

“I just don’t get you. You do this whole Captain Hook thing and then you get all weird when I mention Peter Pan. Doesn’t that seem kind of contradictory?” Beth put an elbow next to his head and rested her chin in her hand, giving him a curious sort of look.

“How is that contradictory? After being hunted by that monster for decades, I don’t want to talk about him. That’s not unreasonable.”

“According to the fairy tales here, Peter Pan isn’t a monster, though. He’s just a boy that doesn’t want to grow up. He’s an allegory for childhood, he capers and plays games and has to be left behind eventually,” Beth replied, in a lecturing sort of tone, like she was explaining something to a student. “He’s sort of tragic, if you think about it.”

“Tragic?” Hook sat up, forcing Beth to relocate. He gestured with his hook to emphasize his words. “ _Tragic_? He kidnaps children from their homes, takes them to an island filled with dangers, turns them into savages, then kills them when they begin to age!”

Beth shrugged. “That sounds lonely,” she said simply.

Hook’s temper was beginning to fray. She didn’t understand, of _course_ she didn’t understand, how _could_ she. She’d never been the oldest Lost Boy. She’d never had to face the inevitable fact that her leader, her friend, her entire world would turn on her and kill her because she grew old just like everything in nature. She’d never seen her friends go into the woods and never come back, chased by a laughing and merry demon. She’d never fallen asleep at night surrounded by the sound of children sobbing, so numb to the sound after years that it didn’t even annoy her anymore, it was background noise like the crickets or the waves.

Instead of letting all of that come pouring out, Hook smiled and tried to change the subject. “Let’s talk about something else, love,” he said hopefully.

Beth laughed. “I can’t tell if you’re crazy or really crazy. You’re lucky you’re cute or someone would’ve had you locked up by now.” She shook her head, smiling affectionately.

All Hook took away from that was, “You think I’m cute.”

“Did you think I was in the habit of going home with _ugly_ crazy strangers?”

“I don’t know what any of your habits are, love. You haven’t given me the chance to. Didn’t even let me make you breakfast.” Hook made a soft _tutt-tutt_. “And I’ve been called many things, like ‘dashing’ or ‘charming’ or ‘devilishly attractive’ but never ‘cute’. That’s a new one.”

Beth brought her face close and nuzzled her nose against his. “That’s a shame because you are _definitely_ cute,” she said, her voice low and inviting. “I can almost picture you as a young lad, swabbing the deck or whatever.”

Hook made a negative sound. “Didn’t get my ship until later. I got to skip the deck-swabbing portion of being a pirate. That was Smee’s job.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Smee, your bumbling first mate.” She slid into his lap, clearly playing along with his story.

Another negative sound from Hook. “Smee was never very good at sailing but he was a good man. I miss him.”

Beth didn’t pursue the conversation any further, burying her face in his neck, breathing in the spicy scent of him. Hook was happy for the distraction. He didn’t want to think about his old friend, not with a willing woman in his lap, not when he was so far from where he’d had to bury him. He let her kisses fill up his senses, giving him something to think about other than the life he left behind.

***

Another early morning with rumpled blankets and Hook’s companion from the night before conspicuously absent. She hadn’t even left a note this time, which only fanned the flames of his interest.

“I’ve got to figure out how she does that,” he murmured to himself, running his good hand over his face, bleary and tired after only an hour or so of sleep.

The events of the evening played pleasantly in his mind’s eye, with only a couple of unpleasant hiccups. He had to wonder why she was insistent on bringing up Pan. He thought that, perhaps, he should sit down and watch these movies made in his likeness, if only to have a grasp on what people were talking about.

Afternoon found Hook in a store with a pocketful of money taken from under his mattress, asking a clerk for every Peter Pan movie they had.

Several hours later, he called into the Crow’s Nest, claiming illness. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, because he definitely felt sick. No wonder he wasn’t taken seriously, even by the woman that had shared his bed. Captain Hook, as a character in this land’s tales, was a joke. A grouchy caricature who was simply out to ruin everyone’s good time, who fought Pan out of jealousy for his eternal youth and nothing more.

No mention that he or his crew had been Lost Boys. No mention of the lives that Pan had taken. Pan himself was portrayed as a carefree child-spirit, always merry and playing, even when fighting his nemesis. The Lost Boys were shown as happy children that were with Pan by choice.

The whole thing was so completely _wrong_.

He flipped one of the movie cases over, staring without focus at the pictures on the back. Peter Pan grinned up at him.

Suddenly it clicked.

Pan had been coming to this world, among others, to steal children for...a very long time. No one really knew how long, except for Pan, who Hook suspected didn’t have a solid grasp on the passage of time. Hook knew that his own recognition of passing years had faded somewhat over the centuries, he could only imagine what millenia would do.

It made perfect sense for the stories of Pan on this side of Neverland to be flattering and joyful, filled with adventure and childlike wonder.

What better way to convince an entire world’s children that if a shadow comes to your window, it will take you somewhere fun?

These movies, and the books they were based on, were the perfect bait.

Hook eventually came to the conclusion that the original author had likely been a former Lost Boy that Pan had let leave on the condition that he’d help snare more children.

It was exactly the type of long game that Pan loved to play. The kind that no one really noticed because they weren’t around long enough. A decade or so wasn’t enough time to put together the bigger pieces and that was all most Lost Boys had. They only got to see the shortsighted cruelty, mixed with seemingly pointless actions. 

Hook had been around long enough to see those seemingly pointless actions pay off, even if it took a very long time. Pan didn’t think like a mortal creature. Waiting a hundred years to see results was nothing to him. And now there were millions of children running around that would react with glee if a disembodied shadow knocked at their window. Which was both very concerning and seriously disturbed.

Hook himself had gone with the shadow because he was a sad, angry child that wanted to run off on adventures, not be a shipwright like his father. Granted, running off to Neverland ended up splitting the difference between the two with an emphasis on the adventure aspect. He had never really missed his home, like some of the other boys did when they realized that they couldn’t go back. Neverland had become his home.

There had never been a dull moment, never a day that went by without something exciting happening.

A drop fell on the back of the movie case that he was still staring blankly at, directly on Pan’s smirking face, or at least the actor that was playing him, making it bubble and distort rather strangely before sliding off.

Hook realized in a rush that he was homesick.

Which made him even more nauseous.

***

Hook’s days slid by in a haze of boredom and pointlessness. He hated it. Now that he’d admitted to himself that he missed Neverland, that he missed the fear and the chase, he couldn’t move on from that thought.

He fell asleep every night watching the ridiculous movies he’d bought and dreamed of home.

The creaking boards of the _Jolly Roger_ underneath his feet, the gentle toss of the waves, the rush of adrenaline when the lookout would call down that there was danger. The voices of his crew wove together into a sort of wordless tapestry of comforting sound. And Pan haunted him, a spectre with glittering eyes and a soft mouth so often stretched into a sadistic grin.


	6. Chapter 6

The edge of the blade drew a line of blood across the upper arm of one of the Lost Boys, a lad of about twelve, named Alley after where he’d been found. The boy turned, startled, his face contracting in pain.

Peter laughed and tossed a second knife into the air, catching it by the blade and taking aim at a different boy.

“What’d you do that for?” one of the little boys asked, his sensibilities offended.

“Because it’s fun,” Peter said in return, still smiling. “Would you like to try?” He threw the knife at the little boy and it stuck neatly in the ground in front of him, mere millimeters from his bare, dirty toes.

The youngster shook his head and ran to hide behind a group of boys playing tic-tac-toe in the dirt.

Peter shrugged and made an airy gesture, summoning another razor-sharp, shining blade into his waiting hand. “Come on, now, doesn’t anyone want to play with me?”

The tone in his voice, boredom edging into annoyance, wasn’t lost on the older boys. Steeling himself, Iggy stepped forward. The last months had changed him. He’d gotten taller, his shoulders more broad. His fiery hair had grown out, nearly reaching his shoulders now, though he kept it tied back in a tail. His freckles were hidden under war paint. His dark eyes looked steady.

“I’ll play with you, Peter,” he said, pulling a smile onto his face as Peter’s attention turned to him.

Peter eyed him, his grin getting bigger. “Delightful!” He pointed imperiously at the young man. “You’re the target.”

Iggy’s smile didn’t falter. “I figured,” he said. He crossed the clearing, shoving the other boys out of the line of fire, until he reached the treeline. Turning, he put his back to one of the mighty oaks and stood very, very still.

“See, my Boys? That’s what loyalty looks like!” cried Peter happily.

The older boys knew better. Iggy’s actions weren’t born of loyalty; at least, not loyalty to Peter. He was trying to keep the younger boys from the elvish boy’s violence.

The first thrown knife thudded between the fingers of Iggy’s left hand. It didn’t touch his flesh but it was close enough to feel the chill of the steel. He didn’t flinch.

Peter’s eyebrow quirked, amused and inquisitive. He threw the second blade almost lazily. It somersaulted through the air, wobbling and slow, before sinking in the bark between Iggy’s knees.

Iggy stood still, his eyes fixed on Peter’s. He was tense, anyone would be in that position, but no fear showed on him.

Peter tilted his head to one side, a pleased smile, quite different from the one he’d been wearing minutes ago, curved his mouth.

The third knife soared, whistling as it cut through the air before stopping just short of Iggy’s heart. It froze in place, hovering, its tip poking a hole in the boy’s jerkin.

Suddenly, Peter was there, too close, holding the hilt. He grinned up at Iggy. “Very good, Ignatius,” he murmured. “Look at you, how you’ve grown up.”

Iggy looked down to meet Peter’s eyes, hating it. “Most people do, eventually,” he said evenly, well aware that he was likely signing his death warrant.

“I know. It’s _tragic_.” Peter stepped closer, his body nearly touching Iggy’s. He only came to the lad’s shoulder, now. He moved the blade, lightning fast, to bury with a thud next to Iggy’s neck. “I don’t know why you insist on doing it. It’s rude. To grow up and leave me as soon as I start to grow fond. You’ve just begun to get interesting.” He glared up at Iggy, irritation plain in his eyes, eyes that looked just like sunlight through leaves. Peter put his fists on his hips. “It’s not fair.”

Iggy’s heart was racing. He knew he should be scared but the adrenaline felt good, coursing through his veins, making him bold. “Yes, it’s truly a shame, I feel so bad for you,” he said sarcastically.

The tone of sarcasm either went over Peter’s head or he chose to ignore it. He pouted rather convincingly for a moment, then brightened up. “I feel bad for me too but I have an idea! A wonderful idea, the best idea I’ve had in _ages_.”

After a pause, Iggy asked, “Well, what is it?”

With a mischievous twinkle, Peter whispered, “Come to my tree tonight, after the children are asleep, and I’ll show you.”

***

The night creatures were the only sound aside from Iggy’s careful footfalls. The Dark Forest was, well, dark. Only a sliver of moon showed through the trees, doing nothing to illuminate the ground below. As a Lost Boy, Iggy was used to it, though. While the fire crackled in the camp at all hours, the older boys frequently snuck off into the ominous woods to hunt or wander. Even though Iggy couldn’t see the ground in front of his feet, he knew his way through the woods so well that he wove between the trees without hesitation, working his way deeper and deeper, to the very center of the darkness, where Peter’s tree stood.

Iggy entered the clearing around the tree, left by plants that were apparently afraid to get too close. “Peter?” he called softly, knowing that the elvish boy could hear him easily, even over the crickets. Minutes passed with no indication that Peter had heard him, or was even present. “Peter? You wanted to see me?” After a few more minutes of waiting, Iggy sighed and turned to leave, sure that Peter had gotten distracted and was off teasing the mermaids or something.

Peter swung into view, hanging upside-down from one of the lower branches, his arms crossed, grinning. “You were going to leave!” he accused.

“I figured you got bored waiting and wandered off,” said Iggy.

Reaching up to grab the branch, Peter did a backflip and landed on his feet in front of the boy. “I did get bored, so I took a nap. I had a dream about butterflies. I wonder why there aren’t any butterflies in Neverland?”

Iggy chuckled, shaking his head. “Because butterflies are what happens when caterpillars grow up. If you don’t let them grow up, you don’t get any butterflies.”

Peter looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said flatly. Before Iggy could reply, the elfin boy waved a hand, scattering pixie dust all over the lad. “Come on, I hate being on the ground at night.”

Iggy shrugged and kicked off the earth, floating into the air. Peter grabbed his hand to pull him in the right direction, dragging him along as they flew through the branches.

“I don’t really like being on the ground generally but it’s difficult to get the Boys so used to flying that I don’t have to be. Plus, pixie dust isn’t easy to make. It drains my magic, to give it to others. It comes back, sure, but I don’t like the feeling. So, pixie dust for special occasions only and I had to learn a lot of ground-games.” Peter prattled on as they rose higher and higher. “I tried to have a whole batch of Boys that were trained to play in the trees, so I wouldn’t have to, but they kept falling to their deaths. It was boring.”

They finally broke through the canopy. Once the stars were visible, Peter alighted them on a platform he’d clearly fashioned from woven vines, like a hammock in the sky.

Looking around, perplexed, Iggy asked, “Where are we?”

Peter sat down cross-legged on the hammock, smiling proudly. “A special place. Look, I even made it nice for people who can’t fly to sit and feel safe.” He leaned forward and patted the hammock’s surface invitingly. “Come on, sit down.”

Iggy shrugged and sat opposite Peter. The hammock creaked under his weight. Peter sat beaming at him, clearly waiting for a reaction. “It’s very beautiful up here.” The elf beamed brighter, his smile huge. “Why did you bring me?”

“I wanted to show you the stars. I thought…” Peter paused, looking confused with himself. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten what they look like, in a big, clear sky.” He pointed to one of them, a bright one that made the others nearby look dull. “That’s how to get to your world, and back. Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.”

Iggy looked where Peter was pointing and was surprised to feel nothing, which immediately made him feel guilty. He told himself that it was because the way home was so infinitely out of reach but in his heart he knew that he simply didn’t have any desire to return to his world. It wasn’t that Neverland was a wondrous place that had him charmed, either. He simply didn’t remember enough of his home realm to ache for it. Neverland was his life, the Lost Boys were his family, and Peter was the center of it all.

“You don’t even miss it,” said Peter softly, his voice full of the longing and wonder that Iggy thought he should be feeling at seeing the way home.

“No, I guess I don’t. I thought I would.” Iggy turned his eyes back to Peter, who was staring at him with his head tilted. It was such a curious gesture, one that plainly communicated that as much as he might look similar, Peter wasn’t human. And didn’t quite understand how humans worked.

“Why don’t you?” Peter leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees and his chin in his hands, the very picture of attentiveness.

Iggy shrugged. “I barely remember it. You took me when I was pretty little. I remember that I had a teddy bear that I liked. When I cried and cried my first week in Neverland, it was for my bear.” He shook himself. He didn’t want to poke around in his few memories from before. They didn’t do anything but make him sad. He pushed them down firmly. He’d be dead soon, anyway. Surely his parents had thought him dead for years. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. He felt like he should cry at the inevitability of it all but it was just a hollow echo.

Peter tilted his head in the other direction, eyebrow raised.

“It doesn’t matter, Peter. I don’t know why you’re bringing it up,” Iggy said, his words clipped. “And if you brought me up here to kill me, I’d appreciate it if you just got on with it.”

“Oh, no. No, I didn’t bring you up here to kill you. At least, not certainly. I had to test you, you understand. Can’t have you building a ship and running away from me. But you don’t want to leave,” said Peter. He leaned further forward, placing his hands flat on the hammock. “Say it for me, Ignatius. Let me hear the words from your lips. Tell me how you _feel_.”

“About what? Neverland?”

“Mhmm.” Peter shifted forward, on hands and knees, bringing his face very close to Iggy’s. “Neverland. The Boys. Your life here.” He paused and grinned. “Me. All of it. And be honest.”

Iggy thought that he might as well. His death was nipping at his heels already. If Peter killed him in a fit of pique, at least it would be over. “Neverland is my home. It’s not perfect. It’s not kind or loving. But it’s my home. The Lost Boys are my brothers, which is why I try so hard to protect them. They didn’t ask to be brought here. None of us did. But we all do our best.” His certainty in his fate made him fearless. He had nothing left to lose. He reached out a hand that was calloused from years of rough games and survival and gently brushed his fingers against Peter’s sandy hair, over the tip of one pointed ear. To his surprise, Peter closed his eyes like a contented cat and pushed his head into the touch. “And as for you, Peter. You’re cruel and manipulative and your point of view is so far removed from a person’s that you can’t be anything else. You kidnap children and bring them here because your loneliness is so painful, you want something to fill the void. But then they grow up. They stop being what you want them to be. So you kill them because somehow you think that growing old is a fate worse than death. It’s not, though, Peter. It’s just how things are. Nature’s course isn’t any more cruel than raising children to love and worship you, then being the hands that kill them.” Iggy laughed suddenly, which caused the elfin boy’s eyes to shoot open, startled. “Really, it’s not that different, you just work faster.”

Peter’s glass-green eyes searched Iggy’s face, looking through him, or at least deeper into him. “Then why don’t you hate me? Some of the others have hated me.”

“Hating you for what you do would be as pointless as hating the sky or the sea. You’re cruel and alien but you’re also beautiful and powerful.” Iggy smiled ruefully. It was strange, putting all of his feelings into words like this. “Plus, my life might not be ideal here but it’s my life, and you gave it to me.”

Peter nodded. “You belong to me,” he said simply.

Iggy chuckled. “Yes, I do. Which is why you can do with me as you please.” He was referring to Peter’s inevitable turn, when his delicate hands would be Iggy’s undoing.

But Peter just grinned and brought their lips together.


	7. Chapter 7

That night, Hook’s dreams went back further, delved deeper. Instead of a series of flash images of swordfights and exultant laughter, it was a complete, cohesive memory, one that he’d buried deep.

He was back in Pan’s treetop hammock, laughing and smiling with the little demon, drinking that weird blue stuff that Pan favored, eating cakes and talking. Talking for hours. Well into the dawn. They used to have such conversations.

Perhaps ‘conversations’ wasn’t the right term for it. Hook would talk and talk, about what he remembered from home, the antics that he and the other Boys got up to, his hopes and dreams. He’d known in his brain that his life was likely to end at the hands of the creature sitting across from him, but that had never stopped his heart from longing for adventure and exploration. That was why he’d built his ship, a project that was still in the planning stages at that point.

Meanwhile, Pan would simply listen, all rapt attention. He was hypnotized by it, by the continuous outpouring of human aspirations. Hook had showed him a world that he hadn’t known existed. Before then, he hadn’t even realized that the Boys had feelings that ran deeper than hunger, fear, joy, and hate.

Hook, young Hook, with his short ponytail taming his dark, curly hair and his face marked with smeared paint, had confessed. He’d poured out his small, misguided feelings. He’d told Pan how lovely he was, how enchanting. He’d flirted, and flirted hard, with the terrible little creature. He’d been desperate for approval and affection. And Peter had loved the attention, even if he didn’t quite understand what it meant.

Stolen kisses in the treetop, hungry touches that Pan had allowed, even encouraged. Hook hadn’t realized then that the fae monster felt no desire, at least not physical desire. His advances were always welcomed but with an air of someone playing a game that they didn’t know all the rules of. Pan would watch intently as Hook kissed each of his fingertips, curiosity coloring his stare.

Hook had thought the demon enchanted with him.

He had been such a fool.

That, more than anything else, he hated himself for.

The Lost Boys that he’d been unable to save weighed on his conscience. Especially the one he’d seen die, begging for his life in the waves. But he’d done his best for them, all except for that last poor lad.

Falling in love with Pan had been his own mistake, completely. Letting himself believe that such a creature could ever feel anything but amusement at his expense. He couldn’t even blame the imp for his stupidity. He’d been every inch a lost boy, trying to find his way.

He woke up sweaty and angry, his damp hair sticking to his face and his sheets to his body. Self-loathing rolled through him, leaving him feeling dirty and sick.

A long, hot shower couldn’t wash the feeling away. Instead, standing in the shower, naked, with his hook on the bathroom sink, made him feel even more vulnerable.

He knew that there was only one practical solution to his problem, the same one that he’d been falling back on since he sailed away on the _Jolly Roger_ in the first place.

***

Two bottles of rum later, Hook was sprawled across his mattress, humming a sea shanty to himself. His phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Eventually he slapped at it, just to make it stop.

His boss’ voice rumbled on the line, “Where the _hell_ are you?”

“Drownin’ m’sorrows,” Hook mumbled, dragging the phone closer and peering at it blearily.

“So you’re leaving me high and dry on a Saturday night because you’re shitfaced.” It wasn’t a question.

“High and dry is better than low and wet, mate.” Hook laughed and laughed before, still catching his breath from his humor, he added, “Oh hell, that isn’t true. Low and wet every time!” He gestured a cheer with his bottle, which was luckily so near to empty that it didn’t slosh everywhere.

“Right. You’re fired.” The line clicked and ‘Call Ended’ flashed on the screen.

Hook squinted, struggling to read the words as they swam in front of his eyes. He shrugged. “S’fine, mate. Wasn’t a bartender anyhow. Pirate’s life for me, mate.” His voice rose angrily and he shouted at the darkened phone. “ _Pirate’s life for me_!”

***

The next morning found Hook nursing a throbbing skull and carefully sipping a glass of orange juice with only a smidge of vodka thrown in.

“Hair o’ the dog,” he muttered to himself as he sat the glass down and fought a new wave of nausea.

He’d spent the hours between dawn and breakfast curled up on his bathroom floor, puking his guts out, then dry-heaving when there was nothing left. Eventually the shivering and convulsing had stopped and he’d been of a sound enough mind to think that maybe he’d overdone it just a touch.

Hook missed his ship. His crew. The chase. The adventure. Peril around every corner and death on the doorstep. Mermaids with razor teeth hidden behind beguiling smiles. Pixies with their tiny wings and even tinier knives, bent on sabotage. He banged his hook-hand on the countertop suddenly, emphasizing his point to no one. Even passing out from blood loss and trauma as Smee cauterized his bleeding stump was a good memory in comparison to _this_.

He was bored, lonely, and disillusioned. Why could the other men from his crew move on with their lives so easily?

The answer was obvious, of course. They were young. Young _er_ , anyhow. The oldest of his crew from Neverland was somewhere in his forties. Whereas Hook, though he looked young, was well over a hundred years old. He’d stopped counting at some point.

Living in Neverland for so long, having that life, had left him scarred. Unable to find joy in a normal life.

He thought of Beth and how they’d laughed. She’d been a point of excitement, at least. But he knew in his heart that his enthusiasm would only last so long, even with someone he found so interesting.

As if summoned by his thoughts, his phone rang. It was a different number than she’d used last time - he got the impression she was using payphones - but he knew it was Beth before he even picked up.

Sure enough, her voice came through. “Hey, sailor,” she said, a lazy sort of confidence in her voice that he found very attractive.

Hook cleared his mossy throat and replied, “Hello, love. Missing me?”

Beth chuckled. “No, but I thought you might be missing me.”

“A bit, a bit. Perhaps.” He tried to play it cool but he needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off of… He cut himself off mentally. He wouldn’t admit that he needed something to stop him thinking about Pan.

“Want company tonight?” she asked. Always so straightforward. Hook had come to find that he appreciated that in a woman.

Hook propped his phone against his shoulder and ran his good hand through his hair. It was tangled and greasy. He glanced at the time. It was edging into late afternoon already. “Of course, love. I just have some things to take care of first.” Like a shower. Change of clothes. An attempt to put something in his stomach that wasn’t alcoholic.

“Sure,” Beth replied and he could hear the indulgent smile in her voice. “I’ll come by around eight.”

Without waiting for an answer, she hung up.

***

After a long hot shower (that only resulted in Hook curled up on the bottom of the bathtub trying to get himself together twice, he was proud to say), some simple food, a short kip, and a fresh set of clothes, Hook was as ready to face the world as he was going to be.

Sure, the remembered taste of lemongrass and honeysuckle still lingered in his throat, trying to choke him, but he was steadfastly ignoring it. He wouldn’t give the little demon the satisfaction of ruining his evening.

At 8:15, his door buzzer rang, and he sighed with relief. Something to focus on.

Beth looked stunning in a tight green dress that hugged her meager curves and made her skin look like moonlight. Her hair was freshly colored, only a shade or two darker than her skin, a perfectly coiffed dandelion fluff. She reminded him of a pixie made human-size but he shoved that thought away, too, into the same corner of his psyche that the rest of Neverland lived.

“Your loveliness is blinding, my dear,” Hook said instead, sweeping into a graceful bow and taking her hand to kiss it.

She smiled, her head tilted just a touch. “And you’re dashing as always, you rogue.”

“A rogue and a rake, love!” Hook agreed, laughing. “Now, what shall we do this evening? Rob a bank? Find buried treasure? Make love until the dawn? All of these things and more?”

Hook was riding high on the idea of adventure, something that he could just barely grasp at here, in this boring world.

His heart sank to his boots when she replied, “I want to see your ship. Show it to me.” She grinned at him, tugging him by the hand, leaving no room for argument.

***

The deck of the _Jolly Roger_ felt wrong. It was completely still, not tossed by waves, as it stood in dry dock. No ocean spray caressed its boards. Hook breathed in deeply but all he smelled was the fishy scent of the nearby cannery, instead of the salty tang of seawater. It felt so unnatural that it nearly brought him to tears. It was quiet except for the soft creak of the rigging in the wind.

He walked the deck, barely paying any mind to the woman that was with him. His hand trailed along the balustrade that framed the ship’s helm. His fingers brushed over the spokes of the wheel, their wood well-worn to smoothness.

“Hook?” Beth’s voice was unusually soft, like she didn’t want to intrude.

The pirate took a deep breath and hauled a smile onto his face, turning with a twirl of his jacket. “Yes, love?”

“This is a lovely ship.” She still looked cautious.

“That she is, lass, that she is. Built her myself.” Hook paused, looking around the Jolly Roger to give himself a moment. “My crew and I, that is. The first ship to carry her name was much smaller, just enough for m’self.”

Beth touched the rope hanging down from the main mast. She quickly made a distasteful face and removed her hand. The rope had to be coarse and harsh to her delicate fingers. “To escape Peter Pan,” she provided, urging him on with his story.

But Hook shook his head. “That’s right,” he replied, leaving it at that.

He moved to stand near the forecastle, leaning on the railing, disgusted by the view of the docks taking the rightful place of the sea. He sighed, suddenly feeling like a caged animal, cornered and alone.

Beth laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You know what I think, Captain? I think you ran away from what you thought were your problems only to find out that they were your motivations.”

Hook opened his mouth to argue then shut it with a snap. Angry dark patches appeared on his swarthy cheeks. He took several deep breaths, trying to bring himself to a level of calm that wouldn’t result in mean-spirited words.

After several moments, he said bitterly, “I disagree.”

He could feel her hand shift with a shrug.

Her lack of response was somehow worse than biting words would’ve been.

“How would you know anything about it, anyway?” Hook snapped. “You thought that demon was some sort of playful childhood hero! And that’s not even accounting for the fact that you don’t even believe me and surely think I’m some sort of raving madman that just happens to be attractive enough to overlook his ramblings!”

Beth’s hand dropped off of his shoulder. He rounded on her, taking in her brash eye contact and the brave set of her feet, the way her hands sat on her hips. For no particular reason that he could discern, it infuriated him.

He pointed with his hook. “Get off my ship.”

“What’s a ship without water, pirate?” Beth shook her head and laughed, low and derisive. “The same as a pirate without an enemy, I guess. Pointless.” She turned and stalked over to the ramp, her back straight and proud. As her foot touched the slanted surface, she turned around just long enough to say, “You need to go _home_ , Hook. You’re no good here.” Then she was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

The taste of Peter’s mouth haunted Iggy. It had been days since he’d gone with the elfin boy up to the treetops, since he’d seen the stars and felt lips pressed against his own. It had shocked him. Shocked him to the point of not returning the kiss, of staring at Peter with blank non-comprehension, until the fae creature had tilted his head in confusion.

It had been awkward.

But now, days later, days in which Peter hadn’t shown him any favoritism or specific attention, he found himself licking his lips, hoping to catch the taste of lemongrass and honeysuckle still lingering there. But it was gone, leaving nothing but sweat and dirt on his tongue.

Playing with the other Lost Boys had lost some of its charm. The older boys were understandably not in the spirit of the games, their joy in playing sapped by years of violence and fear. The younger boys still had their childlike enthusiasm but it was so hard to entertain it without the creeping sorrow that it would fade with time, only to be replaced by yet another pair of hard eyes.

Iggy found himself becoming gloomy and irritable. He suddenly understood why all of the other oldest boys, at least the ones that accepted the way things were instead of having heads filled with ridiculous hope, had become taciturn and unapproachable. The only thing worse than knowing your own fate was watching others march into it. Tum Tum was next in line. After him, Roddy. Then Mikhail. Then…

With a shake of his head, Iggy cut off his train of thought. It was morbid.

Not to mention that at least a few of the boys would never make it that far anyway. Their resolve would waver and they’d run, or they’d lose their loyalty and Peter would simply snuff them out.

He stood at his place near Peter’s side, as he had since recovering from his concussion. His arms were crossed and his gaze stern as his eyes darted over the other Boys, looking to stop any problems before they really got started.

Some of the Boys were tussling in the dirt, nothing mean-spirited about it, though one of them was already blooded. A few others were shooting arrows at a target they’d rigged up on a tree trunk. The little ones were throwing sticks up in the air and trying to dodge them as they fell. Everything was reasonably peaceful.

Iggy turned his eyes back to the stump where Peter was sitting, only to find that the elven boy was gone.

Looking around the camp, he didn’t see Peter’s signature green clothes or his head of tousled dirty blonde hair.

“Peter?” he called out, quite uselessly.

“Yes, Ignatius?” came the reply, breathed in his ear from far too close.

Iggy didn’t outwardly startle, though his heart did pound against his ribs.

Peter chuckled in the boy’s ear, his chin resting on Iggy’s shoulder. It took a moment for Iggy to realize that Peter was floating about a foot off the ground in order to manage it.

“My fearless Ignatius,” murmured Peter. “That’s my favorite part about you, did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” said Iggy, wondering exactly what he’d done to draw Peter’s attention. Or if the elven boy was simply bored.

Peter made an affirmative sound before bumping his head against Iggy’s like a cat wanting attention...or marking its territory. “Your face is doing something I don’t like. Make it stop.”

Iggy sighed. “What is my face doing, exactly?”

“I don’t know! It’s all serious and looks like a stone.” Peter darted around in front of him, his feet rejoining the ground at some point during his circuit, and peering up at Iggy’s face, all curiosity. “Are you upset? Is that it?” He sounded proud of himself for guessing.

Iggy didn’t reply. Telling Peter that one was unhappy was a leading cause for Lost Boy deaths.

Peter reached up to pull the strap of leather out of Iggy’s hair, letting it fall around the young man’s face. His long, delicate fingers trailed through the coppery strands, twining them around and around. “You can tell me. I won’t punish you. I promise,” said Peter, looking up to meet the lad’s eyes.

Still avoiding the question, Iggy asked, “How do _you_ feel, Peter?”

Peter grinned, huge and shining. “Oh, Ignatius. It’s been a very, very long time since anyone has asked me that.” He paused. “These children,” he gestured around at the Boys, “They worship me. They fear me. But they don’t see me. They don’t love me, not really.”

“I think it’s easier to see idols as more than us,” said Iggy.

Peter nodded. “And I am, of course. But it’s still nice to be asked how I’m feeling, from time to time.” He smiled impishly, mischief twinkling in his green-glass eyes. “Even if it’s to dodge a question.”

Iggy took a slow, even breath. “You really want to know what I’m feeling, Peter?”

Nodding again, eagerly, Peter stepped in close, his elegant fingers trailing down Iggy’s jerkin before settling on the young man’s stomach. “Right this instant, that’s exactly what I want.”

Iggy looked down at the upturned face, all pointed, elfin features and eagerness. Daring himself, he replied, “I’m feeling like I’d love to see the stars again.”

***

The rough, woven hammock felt strange and bumpy under Iggy’s back. He laid there, high in the treetops, looking up at the night sky. The stars shone like diamonds scattered across a sea of black silk. He had the vaguest notion that they were different than the stars that littered the sky on the world he came from but his mind shied away from the implications that held.

Peter sat cross-legged nearby, whittling away at a reed. When he was done, he brought it to his mouth and began to play a slow, haunting tune on his handmade flute. 

Iggy closed his eyes and let the music roll over him, weave through him, bringing with it a sense of longing and loneliness.

When silence once again filled the air, he said simply, “That was lovely.” He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side to face the elfin boy.

Peter grinned. “I know,” he replied. He leaned forward, tilting his head. “I don’t even remember where I learned that song.” He shrugged and laughed. “Doesn’t matter, though.”

Suddenly Iggy had the impression of this creature with an interminable lifespan, floating through worlds, desperately seeking amusement in a universe that had become boring. He knew in that instant that Peter hadn’t learned that song anywhere, he’d just been playing from his heart.

“Why didn’t you like it?” Peter asked suddenly, tilting his head the other way.

“I did like your song, Peter, I just said that.”

Peter shook his head, waving the hand that didn’t hold the flute dismissively. “No, not that. When I kissed you. Why didn’t you like it?”

Iggy swallowed hard. This wasn’t a conversation he’d wanted to have. He’d been hoping that Peter would just swoop in for another, one that he was braced for. “It was unexpected. I wasn’t ready,” he explained lamely. His cheeks burned but the warpaint covered the worst of it.

Peter’s eyebrow quirked.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it,” Iggy continued. “I was just surprised. I didn’t think you…” He trailed off, gesturing futilely. 

“You didn’t think I _what_?” asked Peter, but he didn’t sound angry, just curious and amused.

Iggy cleared his throat. “I didn’t think you, um, liked those kinds of things.” It sounded stupid to his ears as he said it.

“Why not?”

“You just…” Iggy huffed. His embarrassment was starting to turn into irritation. “You’re this magical, eternal elven faerie type of creature and it seemed like such a thing would be above them!”

Peter leaned forward a little further, bringing his face close to Iggy’s. “Firstly, I’m not a _thing_. And secondly, you assumed that I can enjoy fear and power but not physical contact?”

When he put it like that, Iggy’s assumption sounded even stupider.

“Are you ready now, then?” Peter asked, grinning, twinkling with mischief.

Iggy searched his face for a moment, looking for a sign of mockery, that Peter was just playing another of his cruel games, but he saw nothing but eagerness. Maybe it was a game to elven boy, but it wasn’t a cruel one. Iggy nodded. 

***

Iggy was drowning in nectar as he again laid back to look at the stars. It was difficult to breathe, he was so overwhelmed. Peter was next to him, curled up against his side, head resting on the young man’s shoulder. A cool breeze blew through the treetop, rattling the leaves, caressing Iggy’s bare chest.

Peter made a small noise in his sleep, soft and plaintive. Iggy pulled him closer, rolling to wrap his arm around the strange creature snuggled against him. Peter smiled without opening his eyes, his breathing evening back out.


	9. Chapter 9

The wind whipped Hook’s dark ponytail, its cutting force scouring his face with salt borne from the turbulent waves. The deck of the _Jolly Roger_ rose and tumbled with each swell, crashing into the next with the force of an object intent on disobeying nature to the fullest. The smile on Hook’s face was jubilant, wild and free. Overhead, seabirds screamed their warnings, a storm was coming, surely, but he ignored them. He wanted to feel the thrill of his life hanging by a thread. That was the only time he felt truly alive.

Gray clouds gathered at the horizon, rushing forward. With an exultant laugh, Hook took the helm, turning his beloved ship’s nose directly at the oncoming storm.

The water became more tumultuous the closer the pirate got to the cloud front. He could see the foggy blur in the air that meant rain was falling hard. The scent of ozone and petrichor came with a rising gust of wind that caught the sails and tried to push the _Jolly Roger_ back from danger.

Hook’s eyes narrowed. He secured the wheel to keep them on a direct course before leaping down to the main deck to rearrange the sails to allow him to tack into the wind. It was difficult work, without a crew and with only one good hand, but he’d been on the sea longer than most people got to live. Talent and experience made up for the shortcomings. Soon the ship was back on its heading, directly toward the leading edge of the storm.

The first few drops hit the deck as Hook scrambled back up to the helm, more comfortable with his hand on the wheel’s spokes. Almost as an afterthought, he secured a length of rope from his own ankle to the helm’s supporting post. If things got really rough, which he hoped for, he didn’t want to get thrown overboard.

Soon the downpour got started in earnest, blinding the pirate and drenching the ship’s deck. Rainwater that carried the tang of the ocean ran in rivulets down Hook’s body, soaking every inch of his clothing and turning his hair into a clinging black mass of tendrils. The wind picked up, making the sails flap thunderously. The sea below the _Jolly Roger_ ’s belly heaved, trying to smash the ship for having the audacity to challenge it.

Hook’s entire body took on the language of calm control and focus. He handled the helm like a demanding lover, guiding the wheel into the positions he needed without remorse. Here was where he belonged, commanding his ship, running headfirst toward peril.

Adrenaline surged through his system as surely as the storm surged around him. Hook’s heart pounded in his chest, his pupils dilated, his thoughts ticked quickly but methodically. He was in complete control for the first time in months. His laughter was lost to howling winds that ate every sound, devouring and swallowing everything that wasn’t brutal and wild.

Hook was alive. Alive and at peace.

The _Jolly Roger_ listed heavily to port. The pirate swung his hook, sinking the sharp tip into the heavy wood of the helm post, keeping himself steady. Another wave hit the ship, dousing him anew, and making him thankful for the rope he’d looped around his ankle. Lightning painted the rolling clouds with all the colors of an old bruise for a split second before dropping the world back into angry darkness.

The thunder that followed trembled in Hook’s very bones, shaking the timbers of the ship. The wind suddenly changed direction, making the sails flap and the masts creak. The boom swung wildly to and fro with no crew to bring it about.

Hook shouted into the storm, letting his pain and frustration pour out of him. His mouth filled with rainwater, sluicing sideways in the wind.

His mind was calm, clear. His spirit soared with the rolling clouds.

Then, suddenly, the storm settled and began to clear.

“No!” Hook yelled, slamming his fist into the helm post, looking wildly around for which direction the clouds were moving. But they were dispersing with the rapidity squalls were known for. “No, no, no!”

Numbly, the pirate sank to the deck and put his head in his hand.

***

The _Jolly Roger_ had been sailing the Atlantic Ocean without heading for several hours. Land was nowhere in sight. The only man on the ship, its commander and captain, was lying on the deck in nothing but his underthings, looking up at the painfully blue sky and vaguely contemplating taking his own life.

There was nothing in this world for him. His time in Neverland had left him ruined, unable to enjoy a normal existence with normal things. 

Hook had nothing to live for. No life, no love, no friends or family, no happiness, nothing but emptiness and memories.

But the face of that poor boy in the waves, the one that had run to the beach hoping and praying that Captain Hook and his brave crew would rescue him, haunted the pirate. If he ran himself through, or swung from the mizzen mast, or leapt into the unforgiving sea...how many more would be like that pitiful lad?

Night was falling fast, the blinding blue of the clear sea sky fading to deep purple with the flames of sunset in the west. The first few stars came into view, timid and weak, their light still challenged by the sinking sun. Hook dragged himself to his feet, letting the gentle breeze ruffle the hair on his chest as he stretched his arms as wide as they would go. He felt like a vessel drained of its poisonous contents. Cold and empty, but clear. For the first time in many, many years, he felt like he was thinking clearly.

He left the deck for the captain’s quarters below and pulled on a fresh set of clothes. Skin-tight black breeches first, then a billowing white shirt. His knee high boots went on next, followed by his oilcloth jacket, also as black as jet. Finally, his tricorn hat, worn with age and use. The skull-and-bones he’d painted on it as a much younger man was barely visible, just a few flakes of white left on the material.

Hook looked himself over in his mirror, one that had been salvaged from a wreck the mermaids had caused. Its tarnished and chipped surface was barely serviceable but he hardly cared. He knew he cut a dashing figure, even windblown and a bit sunburned. Nodding, he turned his feet with purpose back toward the deck.

It was the first real purpose he’d felt since leaving Neverland.

He bustled around the deck, tying off the sails and repairing the minor damage the storm had done to his beloved ship. When he returned to the helm, he caressed it lovingly, his fingers trailing over the well-worn wood.

“My darling,” he said aloud, addressing the _Jolly Roger_ , the one friend he knew he could always count on. “Are you ready for our greatest adventure?”

Hook smiled up at the sails, as if he was looking for an answer. He didn’t receive one, of course, but he knew in his heart that he was doing the right thing.

The stars were out fully now. He took up his sextant and tracked it across the sky until he found what he was looking for. The second star to the right.

“...and straight on ‘til morning,” Hook murmured.

He sat down the sextant and took the helm, his strong hands turning the wheel to its new course. The ship creaked as it came about. Hook patted the wheel consolingly.

“Come along, my love,” he said softly, smiling at his beautiful ship, riding high on his renewed sense of purpose. “We’re going to kill Peter Pan.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Why aren’t there any girls in Neverland?” Iggy idly asked Peter. They were in the hammock again, far above the Dark Forest and the sleeping boys below. The stars were blotted out in places by a few errant clouds, marring their scatter.

Peter turned from his activity of throwing rocks into the forest below. “Why? Do you wish there were girls here?”

“No, I was just curious,” Iggy replied, laughing.

“They’re too smart,” Peter said flatly. “I don’t like them.”

“What do you mean ‘they’re too smart’?” What had begun as an idle question had turned into genuine curiosity on Iggy’s part, mostly due to the elfin boy’s unpleasant reaction.

Peter stood and gestured out at the black expanse of the night sky, vaguely in the direction of the star he’d pointed out as the way back to the world Iggy had come from. “They don’t fall for tricks! If you appear in a _girl_ ’s bedchamber in the middle of the night and offer to take them to a land of magic, they throw the bedpan at you.” He shook his head, shuddering with the memory. “Vile little creatures, girls.”

Iggy laughed, he couldn’t help it. It was death to laugh at Peter Pan, he knew that, he’d known it for years, but the otherworldly boy crowing about how awful girls were because they didn’t play along with him was too funny. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Iggy wondered if all of his sense of self-preservation had flown. It seemed likely. The sword of Damocles can only hang over one’s head for so long until you start to wish it would just get it over with.

Peter glared daggers at him. “It’s not funny,” he snapped. His green-glass eyes looked sharp enough to cut.

“It really sort of is, Peter,” Iggy said, still chuckling.

Peter made a sound that was suspiciously like _harrumph_ before turning back to throwing rocks into the woods. “You know,” he said, not looking over his shoulder, “You’re quite lucky that I favor you. If you weren’t you, I’d have dropped you from this perch for such insolence, just so I could enjoy your screams on the way down.”

Iggy fell into seriousness suddenly. Without really thinking about the words leaving his mouth, he said, softly but surely, “I wouldn’t give you the pleasure of screaming.”

Peter went completely still. The kind of still that a living thing shouldn’t be able to manage. No movement of breath, no subtle shifts of muscle.

In a flash, he was in front of Iggy, his face centimeters away, his eyes flashing.

_This is it_ , Iggy thought. He didn’t even feel afraid. He stared down at the elfin boy.

Peter reached up and grabbed a handful of ginger hair, pulling. “You…” he growled in Iggy’s face. He grinned, his perfect, straight teeth looking very sharp in the moonlight. “You are delightful, Ignatius.” He dragged the taller boy’s face to his, kissing him with bruising force.

Iggy didn’t quite know how to react so he went with it. His large, calloused hands clamped down on Peter’s waist. He let himself get lost in the taste of Peter’s mouth, the feeling of the slight body pressed against his. Even the delicate, long-fingered hand still holding a fistful of his hair was a delight, the pain drawing a contrast to the pleasure.

Without warning, Peter stepped back, cocking his head, a few silken copper strands of hair dangling from his fingers.

“What…?” Iggy began but Peter held up a hand for silence.

Tilting his head this way and that, the elfin boy looked like a wild animal searching for a sound that was just out of hearing range. He walked to the other side of the hammock and leaned over, a perplexed look on his perfect features. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.

Iggy tried again. “What is it, Peter?”

“We have company, Ignatius. Let us give a warm welcome.”

***

Iggy’s feet touched down on the sandy beach, still glittering faintly with Peter’s magic. The cool air blowing in off of the ocean was tangy and strange. He’d never wandered down to the coast of the island. He’d had no interest in running the risk.

But there, moored to the one post that stood in the water, was a ship.

The vessel was huge. Larger than any man-made thing Iggy had seen since coming to Neverland. Its sails flapped in the breeze, black and carrying the insignia of a pirate.

It had been months since Captain Hook’s ship had been sighted in the waters off the island. Months since cannon-fire had rung in the distance, shaking the leaves from the trees. Months since one of the Lost Boys had pulled a runner and become part of the rogue’s crew.

Iggy was not pleased.

He drew his blade and stepped between Peter and the ship, his feet set for a fight.

He knew all of the stories, every rumor. That Hook had once been a Lost Boy himself, the only one to successfully run without outside help. That he’d been Peter’s favorite before the betrayal. Even the guesswork that Peter let him live because he still found him amusing after so many decades.

A small stabbing pain in Iggy’s gut only made him grit his teeth.

This pirate captain was no scared child running for his life, not anymore. He was a traitor and tormentor.

Peter looked up at Iggy, wonderment on his face. “Are you trying to protect me?” he asked, amused.

Iggy nodded. “As the eldest Boy, it’s my duty,” he said, keeping his eyes on the ship. As an afterthought, he added, “Isn’t it?”

Peter laughed. “Oh, my darling Ignatius. You’ve come along so well.” He took a few steps forward, ahead of the boy, walking backwards with the air of someone that didn’t care a whit for the danger presented. “No need to worry. Hook is a coward, he always has been. He’ll saunter around, stir up trouble with the Boys, get a few of them killed, then scurry off to his ship to sulk.” He chuckled, then pulled a pouting face, to mock the pirate’s sulking.

“Still. It’s not safe.” Iggy’s voice was hard, protective.

“ _I’m_ as safe as could be.” Peter glanced over his shoulder at the ship, bobbing in the water, empty and inactive. Silently, he tracked the footprints in the sand with his eyes, leading from the water’s edge into the forest.

Iggy followed his glance, the smallest hint of fear crawling in his stomach. Not fear for himself, though, fear for those he was meant to keep safe. “The other Boys,” he murmured.

Peter dramatically drew his thumb across his neck before dissolving into giggles.

“Well come along, we have to help them!” Iggy said, urgency plain in his voice.

Peter just looked at him for a moment, considering. “Ignatius,” he said slowly. “Don’t you understand? The disloyal will see Hook as their way out. And they _deserve_ to die.”

Shaking his head, Iggy took a step toward the forest path that led to the Lost Boys’ camp. He paused. “Peter, they’re children. And they’re scared.”

Peter stalked around to stand in front of Iggy, again. He glared up at the taller boy, pointing an accusing finger in his face. “You’re not scared, why should they be?”

Iggy pushed the elven boy’s hand out of his face. “Because I’ve accepted my fate and I’m hardly a child anymore,” he snapped.

For the span of a few heartbeats, Peter just stared at his hand. He moved to gaze to Iggy’s face but still didn’t say a word.

“Peter…” Iggy started, unsure of what expression the elfin creature was making. He couldn’t read it, at all.

“How dare you?” Peter asked, his voice as soft as silk.

“Peter, I…”

“How _dare_ you?” Peter repeated, his voice getting louder.

The trees shook as though a stiff breeze had just blown through them, despite the air’s stillness. A breaker crashed into the shore, the gurgling water sounding suspiciously like a thousand whispers of warning.

“How dare I _what_ , Peter?” Iggy knew his eyes were pleading and he could feel the color rising in his cheeks but he barreled onward. “Question your leaving the Lost Boys to that traitor? Or simply growing up? Is that what I’ve done to you, Peter?” He could feel his eyes burning but he refused to cry. He hadn’t cried since he was very small and very alone, shivering himself to sleep in his blanket, as near to the fire as he could get.

“Yes!” Peter shouted, stomping a foot on the sand.

Iggy had never seen him so furious. Coldly angry, yes. Sadistically amused, certainly. But never like this.

The trees added their warnings to the chorus coming from the sea.

“Oh, stop that!” Iggy yelled at the treeline before turning to address the waves. “Stop that right now! I’m perfectly aware, thank you _very_ kindly!”

Iggy’s raised voice seemed to grab Peter’s attention, pulling him from his tantrum. His voice was even when he said, “Yes. That’s exactly what you’ve done, Ignatius. Grown up. Questioned me.” His pretty eyes, so ethereal and inhuman, searched the taller boy’s face. “You’re going to leave me. Just like _he_ did.” Long, delicate fingers gestured dismissively at the ship, bobbing harmlessly in the water.

“Peter, I would _never_.” Iggy dropped to one knee in the sand and took the elfin boy’s hands in his own. They felt like the petals of lilies in his calloused hands. “I’ll be by your side for as long as you let me.” His hands clenched and he worried he would bruise such tender extremities. “I know you’ll tire of me. Or I’ll get a little older and you’ll hate me for it. I accept that. But I’m here until the end.”

Peter stared, his head cocked to one side, his expression unreadable but soft.

Iggy brought Peter’s hand to his cheek. “I’m yours,” he said simply.

“Of course you are,” Peter said quietly. He tilted his head to the other side. His thumb caressed Iggy’s cheek, smearing war paint. He smiled, big and joyful, then added, “Well, come on then! Let’s go save our Boys!” Peter crowed like a rooster and kicked off the ground in a shower of greenish glittering magic.

“Wait.” Iggy grabbed at Peter’s shoe. He had an idea. “First…”


	11. Chapter 11

Hook walked a circle around the camp and the irritated-looking boys it contained. While the faces were different, they could’ve just as easily been the group of lads he’d grown up with. Sad-eyed, filthy, but with a hard set to every mouth. Fewer in number, though, than his set of Lost Boys had been. No really raw recruits. No squalling toddlers kept in line by a sharp smack from one of the older boys, snuffling and choking on their snot. And their Eldest appeared to be missing. There were older boys present, sure, but none of them stepped forward to address him. No one was in charge.

“Don’t worry, lads, I’m not here to hurt you,” Hook said, keeping his voice calm and even, the way one would speak to a frightened animal. “Quite the contrary, in fact. I’m here to help you. There’s room for each of you on my ship and I can take you back to your world.”

He looked around, gauging their faces. Some of the younger boys looked interested. The older ones simply looked frightened, darting worried looks over their shoulders. Hook sighed.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“What others?” a rather large boy asked. He sounded annoyed. “The only one missing is Iggy. And Peter Pan, of course. But you knew that, didn’t you, Captain Hook?”

Hook looked around at the group again. It was a few shy of Pan’s usual number. And with no fresh blood. Had the demon stopped taking children? No, that was impossible. It was a compulsion with him. A desperate attempt to fill the emptiness inside of his evil little heart. Perhaps the imp had simply been more murderous than usual.

“Is Iggy your leader? The oldest Lost Boy?” he asked instead. It wasn’t as if the boys would know Pan’s motivations anyway.

A little boy, one with tears in his eyes and a trembling lip, piped up. “Yes, Iggy’s our friend. He makes all the games and keeps us safe and plays with Peter so’s Peter’s not mean to us.”

An Eldest that actively protected the other Boys from Pan’s wrath? That sounded promising. “Where’s this Iggy now? Where’s he gone?”

“We don’t know, stupid.” One of the other boys, an adolescent, just starting to get the gangly limbs of a teenager, chimed in. “Neither of ‘em were here when we got up. Though if you’re here, I got three guesses as t’where Peter is.” He grinned, gap-toothed and gleeful at the idea.

But Hook knew Pan better than these boys did. The demon wasn’t the type for property damage. He didn’t think like that. Vindictive as he was, he didn’t see things as extensions of people. Else he’d be an even more effective tormentor. While people were objects to the creature, objects were nothing.

Hook knew the _Jolly Roger_ was safe.

“That’s alright,” he said, trying for a calm, reassuring smile but likely failing horribly. The dark beard-scruff and hook-hand didn’t exactly scream ‘I’m the good guy’. He tucked his hook behind his back self-consciously. He didn’t want to scare the lads, after all. “I can handle Pan. No worries there, lads.”

A sharp laugh from the adolescent boy cut him off. “Sure, like you done so many times, huh? That’s why Peter’s still around and you ran off like a coward, yeah?”

Hook took a deep breath. “What’s your name, lad?”

The boy glared. “Names have power, stupid. You ain’t havin’ mine.” He folded his arms across his skinny chest.

“Right. Fine then. Regardless, I’m willing to give you boys safe passage back to the world we all came from, the one we were all stolen from by that demon, Pan.” Hook tried for the gentle smile again.

“Then what?”

A murmur ran through the boys.

The little, snuffling one said, very quietly, “I want to go home.”

He received a smack on the back of the head for his troubles.

The chubby, older boy glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning the Dark Forest.

“He can’t take you _home_ , stupid.” The skinny adolescent was starting to get on Hook’s nerves. “We come from different times and places. All over. Don’t even know if we _are_ all from the same world. He can’t take us home. Dumb crybaby.”

Hook realized the lad was right. “Still, I can take you away from here and…”

“And what? Drop us on the church steps? Idiot.”

“Now you listen here…” Hook began, his temper finally frayed. Pan had done a good job on this batch. The demon was learning from his mistakes.

“No, you listen, you dumb pirate!” The boy got to his feet and squared off, clearly ready to fight. “We ain’t always happy ‘ere but no one’s always happy anywhere, yeah? This is our home and you need to bugger off before I give you one m’self!”

Hook stared at the child, not even to his shoulder, but willing to step up to someone twice his size and a hundred times his experience. He held up his hands. “I’m not here to fight with you, lads. I’m here to help.”

The oldest shouldered forward, finally, stepping into the gap between Hook and the Lost Boys, shoved the lad with the mouth behind him. “You need to leave,” he said simply.

“But I…” Hook started, all beguiling smiles. He was cut off.

The boy’s pudgy hand pointed toward the Dark Forest. “You need to leave. _Now_.”

“Lad…”

Hook was again brought up short but by a new sound. The leaves overhead rustled in the still afternoon air. He drew his sword, his heart racing in his chest, a rush flowing through him, all the way to his toes, making him feel _alive_. He drew a trembling breath.

The shivering branches reached a fevered pitch, loose leaves spiraling down from above, before settling back into absolute stillness.

“One of these days,” came a haughty, cheerful voice that made Hook’s stomach flip, “I’ll figure out a way to punish the Forest for ruining my surprises.”

Floating down from the trees, a swirl of green glitter in his wake, was Pan. Trailing behind him came a tall young man with orange hair.

The Lost Boys kept their messy ranks, with the chubby boy in the front, between Hook and the rest, and the skinny adolescent still glaring around the older boy’s girth. Some of the younger lads cowered at Pan’s approach; others laughed and clapped. The demon grinned down at them before touching down in front of the large boy, with his back to Hook.

“My Boys, look at you all! Gathered up to face this awful man,” Pan let pride drip from his voice, thick and false. “Not a one of you running off to join a pirate. No one scurrying away. You boys…” He trailed off, shaking his head and smiling, “You all drink with me tonight!”

The Lost Boys cheered and the sound chilled Hook to the bone.

Pan turned to face the pirate, still grinning, his green-glass eyes trailing over the man’s form. “And look at you, James.” He circled Hook, tutting his tongue. “Your eyes. The set of your mouth. The tension in your frame. You’re glad to see me, you naughty, awful boy.”

Hook snarled and consciously stepped into a fighting stance, purposefully clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t give the demon the satisfaction. He wasn’t glad to see Pan, after all, at least not in any way that was measured by joy or happiness. But he couldn’t deny the vitality, so lacking in the past months, that coursed through his veins. “I’m here to kill you, demon,” he said as flatly as he could.

Pan laughed, like a happy brook surrounded by twittering birds. The Eldest, Iggy, sauntered up to the demon’s side, arms crossed, looking stern, eye to eye with the pirate. That’s when Hook noticed it.

Tied around Iggy’s upper arm was a length of cloth, black and tattered, standing in contrast with the lad’s pale skin. Hook recognized it instantly. He’d seen it fluttering in the wind, attached to his masts, every day for at least a century. It was a length of the _Jolly Roger_ ’s mainsail.

Iggy met his eyes and smiled.

Fury crashed over Hook, and through him, carrying away his thoughts on a tide of pure anger and hatred. For a moment, the boy’s fiery hair seemed to bleed into the air around him, painting Hook’s vision crimson.

His blade forgotten in the heat of the moment, his fist snapped out, catching the boy across the jaw with the hilt of his sword. Iggy stumbled and Hook fell upon him, bearing him down with his knee in the lad’s gut.

But Iggy wasn’t new to fighting. He snapped his head forward before it could hit the earth, smashing his forehead into the pirate’s nose. That threw Hook off enough to stop his momentum. The two tussled for a moment, throwing punches made ineffective in such close quarters, before Iggy kicked the man off of him and stood. 

Iggy wasn’t hurt, particularly. He dusted off his jerkin and wiped the blood off his chin with the back of one hand, smiling harder despite the motion opening his newly split lip wide. He darted a glance at Pan. “See?” he asked smugly, the s sound a little wet around the edges.

Pan nodded, clearly impressed. “And to think that I was going to punish you for wasting my time,” he said quietly, his eyes still locked on Hook as the pirate rolled into a fighting crouch, then got to his feet.

“Getting some small revenge on such a faithless beast is never a waste of time, Peter,” said Iggy. He took up his protective position next to Pan once more.

Hook realized in that moment that everything was going wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The Lost Boys were supposed to take the chance to run without hesitation. Their Eldest, one who protected them from Pan’s wrath, was supposed to keep protecting them and side with the person who was trying to save them. Then he was _supposed_ to take Pan’s obnoxious head, ending the threat for good! But instead, the Boys were standing with their tormentor and at least one of them had the brains to make that mean something.

Iggy very deliberately used the trailing length of the _Jolly Roger_ ’s sail to wipe the blood from his face.

“What did you do to my ship, boy?” Hook growled.

Pan quirked an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“ _WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SHIP!_ ” he shouted, his temper frayed, his palm sweating on his sword’s hilt.

“Go ahead, answer him,” Pan said dismissively.

Iggy shrugged. “I’m afraid that she’s left you, same as you left Peter.” He paused and smiled again. A fresh trickle of blood made its way down his chin to drip unceremoniously onto his jerkin. “How does it feel to be betrayed, pirate?”

“I was already betrayed, you stupid boy,” Hook said, low and shaking. He fought the tears that stung at his eyes. He wouldn’t give Pan the satisfaction of seeing him cry, not ever again. He pointed his hook at the demon. “By that creature, the one whose side you’ve taken.”

“You. Left. Him.”

“Yes, James,” Pan added, his face all affected hurt and tragedy. “You left me. I was kind to you. I raised you. Taught you everything you know. And you repaid me by running off.” He turned a circle, casting a glance over his assembled Lost Boys, before meeting Hook’s eyes again. He seemed to suddenly realize that Hook was much larger than him. Pan pushed off from the ground so that he was sitting cross-legged in midair, at the pirate’s eye level. “Which is why you deserve everything you’ve gotten since, James. And somewhere, deep inside of you, in your heart of hearts, you know I’m right.”

Those words shot an arrow through Hook. Suddenly, he was a child again, cowering in the dark, frightened of the strange noises coming from the woods. And over, under, and through the chirrups of the insects and the creaking of the branches, was a soft, ethereal music. Pan singing, or playing his flute, the sound a thread that Hook could grab onto and cling to and wrap himself in.

And he hated it. He fought against that rising tide of nostalgia, the warmth that it tried to bring, the rose-tint to his memory that argued that it wasn’t that bad. That if he just asked forgiveness, if he swallowed his pride and apologized, he could have it all back.

Hook knew that wasn’t true. He knew in his mind, in the places where logic lived, that Pan was a demon, a monster, and that all of the soft and good things he’d ever given the pirate were false.

But that didn’t stop the ache in Hook’s chest.

Pan tilted his head to the side, watching the battle taking place on Hook’s face intently. Finally, he sighed. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the crowd of Lost Boys disappeared in an emerald shimmer, leaving just Pan, Hook, and Iggy in the clearing.

“Begging is easier without an audience,” Pan commented. Seeing the concern on Iggy’s face, he added, “They’re safe, don’t worry. I hate it when you worry.” His long, spidery fingers trailed along the lad’s hair like he was petting a dog. “Go ahead, James. Hasn’t it been long enough? Haven’t you suffered enough?” He dropped to the ground and stepped forward, his face upturned and full of benevolence.

Hook opened his mouth to curse the demon. His fist clenched around his sword’s hilt. He sternly reminded himself that this creature had taken everything from him. His home, his family, his ship...even his ability to be happy with a normal life. He’d been robbed, over and over again, for the pleasure of this monster. “No.” Hook drew a breath to steady himself. “ _No_. I’m here to kill you, Pan. To stop this once and for all. Then I can return to the life I’ve made in the real world.”

Pan pouted. “The life you’ve made? Do you think killing me will make it less hollow? Will give you satisfaction? Oh, James…” He trailed off and shook his head sadly. “You never learn, do you?”


	12. Chapter 12

Iggy watched Peter work with fascination. His lip still stung and he was fairly certain he had a cracked rib but it meant nothing to him, not right then. Watching Hook being broken down, inch by inch, was far more interesting.

The pirate’s dark eyes were wavering, softening. His grip on his weapon loosening.

It was _delightful_.

Iggy took a moment to examine his reaction. He’d never been one to enjoy someone’s suffering. He never played as rough as some of the other boys, nor did he pull the legs off of spiders or anything else.

But Hook had hurt Peter.

And Peter was right, he did deserve to be punished.

“What are you talking about?” Hook snapped, trying to glare but not quite succeeding.

Peter gave him a heartfelt, sympathetic look. “Your life, if you can call it that, in the real world. No purpose, no direction, no one to love.”

“I had a job there, a good one!”

“As fulfilling as being a pirate?” Peter asked, head tilted in curiosity.

Hook shook his head and rallied. “There was a woman,” he added, defensively.

“A woman?” Peter asked, followed by a cruel laugh. He looked triumphant, and glorious in his victory. “You need to go _home_ , Hook,” he said in a mocking falsetto. His elegant fingers twirled in the air but shadows traced the movement instead of his signature green shimmer. Peter’s shadow, so rarely with him, flowed out of his fingertips, down his arm, his torso and legs, then pooled onto the ground at his feet. “You’re no good here,” Peter added, grinning.

His shadow coalesced, taking solid shape and stepping away from the ground. It looked like a woman, with short blonde hair and a pretty, elfin face.

Hook choked on a sob.

Iggy had to assume that this woman was Hook’s woman. Or at least, Hook had thought she was.

“The entire time,” Hook said. His voice was quiet and it shook, but it wasn’t a question.

“You looked lonely,” Peter offered as an explanation.

Hook swallowed, dragging his eyes from his fictitious lady-love back to Peter. “We both know that’s not why you sent her. Why you sent _it_.”

Peter looked wounded for a moment but couldn’t keep it up. He laughed and the woman melted into a pool of shadow which flowed over to his feet. “You’re right, of course. She was a reminder, James. Of what you left behind.”

Hook had clearly been intimate with the woman, had cared for her. Unknowing that she was Peter’s shadow all along.

Iggy could almost hear the pirate’s heart crumble. The man sunk to one knee and buried his face in the crook of his arm.

“I give up,” came Hook’s words, the surrender of a broken man.

“What was that, James?” Peter stood over him, looking down like a wrathful god.

“You’re a demon, Pan. You’ve taken everything from me,” Hook mumbled into his arm, his voice hollow and numb. He took a shuddering breath but his voice got stronger. “You took everything from me and you’re hell-bent on taking everything from these other lads, too.” He looked up, fire in his dark eyes. “They’re _children_ , you bloody monster! They had their whole lives ahead of them!”

Peter shrugged. “What could they have possibly done in their short, mortal lives that would’ve been half as important as keeping me entertained?”

Iggy shot a look at Peter. Was that really how he felt about the Boys? It didn’t surprise him, not really, it was just...disturbing to hear it said aloud.

Hook directed his next words at Iggy. “Do you see what you follow? What you give your loyalty to?”

Iggy squared his shoulders and met Hook’s eyes without flinching. “Yes.”

Hook’s eyebrows came together, confused and troubled, and he opened his mouth to speak but Iggy cut him off.

“Yes, pirate. I know what I follow. I know that he’s cruel, that he’s so far removed from humanity that he can’t be anything else. That’s why he needs someone to keep him grounded, you stupid, selfish man. That was _you_.” Iggy crouched down in front of Hook, jerking his chin up, forcing the man to look him in the eye. “And now it’s me. Being the man you couldn’t. For Peter. For the Boys. And for myself.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Is that what you thought, Hook? Honestly? That the only way someone could follow Peter is blindly? That anyone who gives him loyalty must be a love-struck fool, just because that’s what you were?” He dropped his hand and stood, making his way back to Peter’s side.

The blood on his face was starting to itch as it dried.

Peter looked up at him with a strange expression on his face, his eyes twinkling like leaves fluttering in sunlight, his rose-petal lips slightly parted.

It was the most beautiful thing that Iggy had ever seen.

He smiled, his heart filled with joy and purpose. He knew he was doing the right thing. Peter was a force of nature but Iggy could mitigate the damage the elfin boy caused. He could stay by his side for all time.

Iggy could feel the heat on his cheeks but he didn’t care.

Peter murmured, “Ignatius,” with such a tone of wonderment that it was like music.

Then Hook lunged forward, his sword piercing the boy’s skin, the blade splitting flesh and diving deeper, deeper into his body. 

The pain was nearly blinding, but Iggy managed to keep Peter’s face in focus. He could feel his lung filling with blood, the pirate’s blade had missed his heart.

Iggy coughed and fell to one knee. Then both.

Hook yanked his blade free and the lad fell forward, his hands barely supporting him, fingers clenching against the dirt.

His vision swam and faded. He was vaguely aware of Hook flying across the clearing in a splash of green glitter. The pirate hit a tree and crumpled to the ground.

Iggy’s eyes found Peter, who was standing over him, head tilted, looking detached, perplexed, and mildly irritated. His hand clawed along the ground, toward the elven creature.

“It was…” Iggy gasped. He coughed up a gout of blood. At least it wasn’t itchy anymore. “...supposed to be by your hand…” he managed.

Iggy slumped forward.


	13. Chapter 13

Hook’s body hung suspended a handspan above the ground. The bark of one of the trees dug into his back. The long, powerful fingers of the demon dug into his throat, holding him aloft.

He realized that he’d never seen Pan angry. That all of the time he’d thought the little imp had been furious with him, he’d been playing a game. An elaborate, deadly game of cat and mouse, but a game nonetheless. Pan’s anger didn’t look like sword-fights and threats.

It was pure, cold rage.

Those delicate-looking fingers squeezed tighter, lifting the pirate higher. The demon’s face was implacable. His sandy mop of hair fluttered in a preternatural wind that only seemed to touch him.

“That was _mine_ ,” Pan said, his voice dangerously soft. “ _He_ was mine! _Mine_! And you broke him!” The hand that wasn’t holding Hook’s throat pulled back, cocked as if for a punch, but the pirate knew that Pan wouldn’t settle for breaking his nose.

But he knew he’d done the right thing. The world didn’t need two of them, two creatures like Pan. Even if he died for his decision, he’d see to it that the demon didn’t have a willing, able, and aware helper.

The demon’s head tilted to the side, a sure sign that he was thinking through a new idea. He grinned. “You know what, James? You and I are going to _play_ ,” he whispered, bringing his face close to the pirate’s cheek, his breath playing against his skin. “I’m not going to kill you yet. No. You don’t _get_ to die.”

Hook squirmed against Pan’s grasp. He refused to be taken captive. He’d seen what the imp did to captives.

Pan’s fingers tightened and he pressed Hook harder into the tree trunk. “Instead, I’m going to call the Boys back here. And you’re going to watch…” Hook could feel his grin against his stubbled cheek. “...as I kill them. One. By. One.”

“No…!” Hook tried to shout, but his windpipe was rather busy being constricted and the sound came out as barely a gasp.

“Oh, yes, James. They’ll beg. They’ll _plead_. And I’ll explain to them that you did this. That they’re dying because of _you_.” Pan pulled back enough to meet Hook’s dark eyes. The demon looked elated, almost aroused, by the prospect. “And I’ll get to watch you _suffer_.”

The demon kept Hook at arm’s length and gestured with his other hand. The Lost Boys faded into sight through a cloud of emerald shimmer, looking confused.

Then one of them saw Iggy, lying face-down on the ground.

The boys turned into a panicked, squirming mass as they scrambled to get to their friend, their protector.

Hook writhed in Pan’s grasp, trying to free himself, but the imp was inhumanly strong.

“Look what the pirate did, boys,” Pan said, his voice lilting and overflowing with sadness.

The largest boy rolled Iggy over, examining his wounds, desperately if inexpertly feeling for a pulse. The younger lads started to cry, huddling together.

The smallest, the snot-nosed boy who hadn’t yet learned to keep his mouth shut, threw a rock at Hook’s head. It missed by a country mile. “Why’d you hurt Iggy?” he wailed, bottom lip trembling, tears flowing freely down his grimy face.

Pan dropped Hook unceremoniously. The pirate collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, clutching his throat, trying to remember how to swallow.

“Yes, James,” Pan lamented. “Do tell the boys why you would hurt their friend.”

“I…” Hook tried to speak but his throat wouldn’t cooperate. He coughed, roughly and painfully.

The demon beckoned the littlest boy over. “Come here, Dirk.”

Hook tried to shoo the boy away, to warn him, but a sad sort of croaking and flailing was all he managed. Dirk glared at him and rushed into Pan’s arms.

Pan scooped the child up, holding him on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world, rocking him slightly, every inch the caregiver. His long fingers brushed away the tears on the boy’s dirty cheeks.

“We have to punish him, don’t we, Dirk? Such a mean and nasty pirate deserves to be punished for hurting our friend,” said Pan softly, soothingly.

Dirk nodded. His little face, still chubby with baby fat, was as serious as it had ever been.

“I’m glad you feel that way, Dirk.” Pan smiled, his free hand moving to the knife at his belt.

Hook knew that the demon would make the child’s death as messy as possible, just to make the pirate suffer. He pushed himself up, unsure what he could do to stop the storm of violence that was coming. The whole world seemed to go still. The leaves ceased their shivering, the Boys all fell silent, like everything could sense what was about to happen.

Everything and everyone except for Dirk, it seemed. “You get ‘im, Peter. Make ‘im pay,” the lad said, disapproval for the villainous rogue dripping from his childish voice.

Pan nodded silently.

Tension filled the air, like the calm before a storm, full of potential and...waiting.

The demon’s fingers closed around the hilt of his knife. The blade glinted in the dappled sunlight. Hook stumbled to his feet, reaching out. For what, he wasn’t sure. The blade, the boy, the demon, he just wanted it to stop.

Breaking through the silence like thunder came the large boy’s voice. “He’s...he has a heartbeat, Peter! Iggy’s still alive!”

Pan’s eyes went from cold fury to hot, burning rage in a split second. He dropped Dirk, who Hook grabbed as he fell, and rounded on the rest of the Lost Boys, huddled around their fallen companion.

“How _dare_ you interrupt my vengeance with your _lies_?” Pan’s voice seemed to fill the entire clearing, a flock of crows in his words, discordant and demanding.

The boy looked startled and frightened. “I...I’m not lying, Peter…” He sat on the ground, gently cradling Iggy’s head in his lap. He put a hand in front of the fallen lad’s nose and mouth. “Come feel, he’s breathing, but only a little.”

Hook saw his opportunity. To escape, to rally his resources, to check on his ship. To live to fight another day. The small boy in his arms had stopped trying to bite him as soon as the de facto leader had spoken, so he sat him carefully on the ground. A few stumbling steps and Dirk ran off to Iggy’s side, shoving his way forward to see for himself.

“Go on, Pan. Save the boy.” Hook’s voice was still rough and croaking but he was able to speak.

Pan glared at him, then glanced back at Iggy.

That glance was like a knife through Hook’s heart.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the demon would’ve spared a glance for him, if he laid dying.

His jealousy, and confusion over the source of the feeling, made him angry. “Go on, demon! Your pet is drowning in his own blood! Go play the hero, save the boy!” he shouted in Pan’s face, drawing a quirked eyebrow from the little imp and a collection of worried looks from the Boys. They were concerned that he’d set Pan off again, but he’d been playing on Pan’s bizarre, inhuman emotions, such as they were, for a very long time. He lowered his voice to a growl, “Or show what a monster you truly are by letting that boy die while you pursue me.”

Hook could almost see the war happening in the demon’s mind. Should he let the boy die in order to exact his revenge, when that revenge was predicated on the death of the boy in the first place? But it wasn’t, not really. It was based on Hook breaking the imp’s new toy, having the gall to harm someone clearly under his protection. What was the boy’s life anyway? Something that was ultimately replaceable. Or was it? And letting Iggy die would mean that the rest of the boys’ lives would be forfeit, not just enough of them to punish Hook. There was no way that those lads, crowded around their Eldest, their eyes pleading with Pan, would follow the demon if he let the boy die.

On the other hand, letting Hook go would make Pan look like a hero, which was a drive nearly as powerful as vengeance for the little imp.

“Peter?” one of the boys said, quiet, scared, and querulous.

The demon took a long, slow breath then made a contemptuous gesture at Hook. “Get out of my sight,” he snapped.

A look of relief washed over the Boys.

Pan turned on his heel and marched off toward the fallen lad, his back to Hook a clear dismissal.

Hook allowed himself to breathe again. The Boys were safe. For now.

Pan’s mind brushed against his, just for an instant, something the demon had only done once or twice in all the years that they’d known one another. It was like a fresh, springtime breeze whispering against the inside of his skull.

_If he dies, you follow swiftly on his heels._ Hook could feel the dark glee on Pan’s thoughts. _As do all of these children._ The demon rubbed his hands on his jerkin as if they felt dirty. He’d mentioned years ago how much he hated touching minds with humans.

Without a second thought, Hook ran.


	14. Chapter 14

Iggy’s eyes fluttered open, confused. The last thing he remembered was feeling his breaths come shorter and more shallow. The taste of his own blood flooding his nose and mouth. The grit of the forest floor under his nails, against his palms. Then darkness, drowning and thick.

As his vision came into focus, the faces collected around him swam into sharp relief. Tum Tum, Mikhail, Dirk, Roddy, Sneak, Alley...all of the Boys, all of his friends. They looked concerned, scared. Poor Dirk’s face was all red and splotchy.

Iggy reached out an arm, or tried to at least, to pull the little boy in. His embrace didn’t get far. Everything hurt. He smiled, a little shamefaced, and said, “Come here, Dirk, no need to cry.”

Which just set the child into a new bout of wailing. He threw himself on Iggy’s stomach, small arms wrapped as tight as they could get around the bigger boy’s waist.

Tum Tum pulled him back, gently, and Dirk transferred his sobs to Tum Tum’s leg.

“What’s the matter?” Iggy asked. He realized that he voice sounded strange. He wasn’t sure that he liked it.

“You was dead,” Alley said, straightforward as always. “Or near to it.”

Iggy nodded, which hurt too. “Yeah, I remember. Hook...Hook caught me off-guard.” He rubbed at the place where the pirate’s long, thin blade had slid into his chest like so much butter. It ached, and itched, but seemed to be in one piece. “I’m sorry I scared you all. Did Peter…?” He let the question hang. Of course Peter had healed him. His life belonged to the elfin boy, not to some filthy pirate.

Tum Tum nodded but it was solemn, not happy or relieved. And Peter wasn’t with the Boys, wasn’t in the leafy glade, wasn’t at the side of the cot where Iggy had lain once before, when Quinn had cracked his skull.

Suddenly Iggy felt small and weak. How many times would Peter have to bring him back from the verge of death? It was ridiculous. Peter deserved a better fighter at his side, someone more talented and hearty. Someone that could keep up with him.

Completely unbidden, his inner voice completed that thought. _Someone like Captain Hook._

Iggy shook his head, the pain bringing him back to himself. That was silly. Peter hated Hook.

Right?

The look on Tum Tum’s face had gone from solemn to concerned. “Are you alright, Iggy?” he asked, softly

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little dazed.” Iggy tried for a laugh. “I probably lost a lot of blood, huh?”

Dirk’s wail answered that question for him.

“At least the blood lilies will be happy?” Iggy offered. They were the prettiest flower to grow on the island, even if they never fully bloomed. They only sprung up where blood had been spilled, though.

“We just didn’t know if…” Tum Tum trailed off, shaking his head. “After...you might be different…”

Iggy’s eyebrows came together, confused. He’d danced with death before, he didn’t see why this should be different. If anything, head trauma would be more likely to scramble his brains than a pierced lung.

He didn’t have time to question it further. The trees outside rustled, heralding Peter’s arrival. The Lost Boys scattered, trying to look busy elsewhere, masking their concern with years of experience. Alley punched Mikhail in the face and the two tumbled to the ground, tustling and rolling. Iggy smiled at the sight.

Then Peter strolled into the clearing. He walked right past the wrestling boys, past the trembling Dirk, and past Iggy’s cot, without sparing a glance for any of them. He sat on his rock, cross-legged, and surveyed the scene with only passing interest. He looked...tired.

Something in Iggy’s heart wanted to be hurt but he was so unsurprised that it was barely a ghost of a feeling. He’d failed too many times. Peter had only saved him so he could be the one to dispose of him.

Peter did delight in destroying things that were no longer useful to him.

Iggy sighed and closed his eyes, thinking that he might as well get in a nap before his death.

***

When Iggy awoke, it was night. Stars winked at him from between the branches overhead, only one or two. He preferred the view from Peter’s hammock, in many ways, but doubted he would ever see it again.

To his surprise, he found the elfin boy sitting beside his cot, watching him intently.

“Peter?” Iggy asked softly.

“Yes, Ignatius?” Peter replied cheerfully.

“Were you waiting until I woke up to kill me?” Iggy watched the elfin boy’s face closely, unsure if he’d even be able to read anything on those fae features.

Peter tilted his head curiously, one eyebrow quirking. Then he laughed, like birds singing or a happy brook babbling over stones. “Why would I kill you?” he asked, still smiling, still laughing.

Iggy wondered if this was a game. Getting him to admit his failings before ending his life. He wondered vaguely if Peter had taunted Oliver and Quinn before killing them, too. But these musings were pointless, so he pushed them aside. “Because I failed you. Again. And because I’m nearly grown. Honestly, I don’t know why you’ve let me live this long.”

Peter fixed him with a strange look, half curiosity and half inhuman detachment. “Oh, you can’t tell. That’s too funny.” He grinned and gestured to Iggy’s body. “That’s not something you have to worry about anymore. Or ever again. I’m keeping you.”

“Keeping me?” Iggy repeated dumbly. His whole body, the one that Peter was gesturing to as if it was some wonder, felt achy and subtly wrong.

“Mhmm!” Peter looked proud, pleased with himself. He leaned in close to whisper. “It takes a lot out of me so don’t waste it, or I’ll have an eternity to punish you, Ignatius.”

With that ominous statement, he leaned in, pressing his lips to Iggy’s.

Iggy let his senses become lost in lemongrass and nectar.

***

Hours later, when dawn kissed the horizon, its pink tones barely visible through the treeline, Iggy stirred.

Peter was curled around him protectively, somehow, even though Iggy was so much bigger than him now.

Iggy smiled to himself, content. He had never seen Peter sleep so soundly. He hadn’t really thought that the elfin boy needed rest. Carefully, he laid one small kiss on Peter’s bare shoulder.

Peter’s eyes didn’t open as he mumbled, voice sleepy and uncharacteristically vulnerable, “I’m proud of you.”

Tears stung at Iggy’s eyes even as he worked on convincing himself that the Peter was dreaming of someone else.

***

Days passed. Iggy healed. Or something. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with his body; there wasn’t even a scar on his chest. But it wasn’t behaving properly. His muscles burned, his heartbeat sounded strange in his ears.

He summarily wrote it off as the side effects of too much faerie magic in his blood.

Peter was gone most of each day, ostensibly hunting for Hook, canvassing the island from the treetops. Iggy thought it was fairly obvious the the pirate would have fled with the remnants of his ship, tail between his legs, where Peter couldn’t follow. But attempting to dissuade the fae creature when he had his mind set on something was pointless.

Iggy played with the boys, keeping them busy, happy, and fed, as was his duty. The boys, however, seemed put off by his presence. He kept catching them staring out of the corner of his eye.

Not knowing how to approach the situation, he ignored it. It had to be difficult to see a friend nearly die.

Iggy was like a ghost walking among them.

Eventually, he pulled Alley aside, trusting the boy to tell him the truth. Alley was loud-mouthed and obnoxious, sure, but he always spoke his mind and never bothered to lie.

The boy, still gangly and long-limbed with adolescence but starting to show the first signs of adulthood, looked at Iggy with distrust and stayed out of arm’s reach. Iggy couldn’t help but think of Alley’s - and all of the Boys’ - rapidly approaching deaths for nothing but the crimes of nature.

“What’s wrong with you?” Iggy demanded. “Why are you all acting like I’m contagious or something?”

Alley glared, his dark brows drawn together over his sky blue eyes, eyes that were startlingly bright in the tanned landscape of his face. Suddenly Iggy knew why Peter had taken him.

The boy crossed his arms and frowned. “You was dead, Iggy,” he said flatly. “I saw it with m’ own eyes. We all did. You was _dead_.”

Iggy laughed and shook his head. “I’m sure I just looked dead. I mean, there was probably a lot of blood…”

“No.” Alley’s eyes went to the taller boy’s chest, where the wound had been. “Tum Tum had you in his lap. He’s the one what even found out you was alive. He was watching you close and you died. No breathin’, no heartbeat.” Alley shook his head. His voice got quiet, his eyes distant, as he relieved it. “Your eyes was open, starin’ at the sky. Tum Tum was shakin’ you, slappin’ your face, callin’ your name. Dirk started wailin’ like he always does, stupid little crybaby. And we was all gathered around and…” He paused and shook his head.

Iggy stared at him, wide-eyed. He’d been dead? He swallowed, pushing down the fear that was crawling in his belly like cold maggots. “Go on, please,” he whispered.

Alley glanced around the camp, quickly tallying who was present. He looked scared. “Peter, he...Peter pushed through us, lookin’ like a storm, all furious-like. I ain’t never seen him so mad. He shoved Tum Tum out of the way, holdin’ you himself, and he…” The boy averted his eyes awkwardly. “He put his mouth on yours, like a kiss or somethin’, and there was this green glow, not like his usual magic, it didn’t sparkle or nothin’, then you was gaspin’ and...and twitchin’ all around, and _screamin’_ , and Peter picked you up and carried you, walkin’, not flyin’, and we didn’t see you for a couple days. We was all alone.” Alley met Iggy’s eyes, looking scared and upset. “When you came back, you was different. You don’t feel it, I guess, ‘cause you ain’t actin’ any different, but we feel it.”

“...what do you mean?” Iggy breathed, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“You was _dead_ , Iggy,” Alley repeated again, like he needed to drive that point home, as if the older boy didn’t quite get it. “And now you ain’t. You’re like _him_ , not dyin’ or nothin’.”

Iggy thought that was quite a leap of logic. Just because Peter healed him, brought him back from across the veil of death, that didn’t mean he was like the fae creature. It just meant Peter’s powers were stronger than any of them imagined.

Alley looked away again, toward the other boys, who were watching them while trying to look like they weren’t. He squared his shoulders and puffed out his thin chest as well as he could, trying to look brave and completely ruining it with his words. “Please don’t hurt us, Igg.”

“I...I would _never_!” Iggy said emphatically. He was shocked that one of the Boys, _his_ Boys, would think him capable of such a thing. It hurt. It hurt worse than Hook’s sword had.

“...you sure?” Alley ventured, his voice wavering around the edges. He was scared, terrified, and hiding it as well as he could.

Iggy reached out a hand to touch his friend’s shoulder, only to draw it back when the other boy flinched away. He nodded, mostly to himself. He was an outsider, now. But he wouldn’t fail in his responsibilities. “I would never hurt you, or any of the others. I’ve been trying to protect you and I’m not going to stop just because I was a little dead for a minute.”

Alley cracked a smile at that. He nodded. “Okay, Igg.” He scuffed one foot against the ground then bolted forward, wrapping his arms around the taller boy’s waist. “Thank you,” he mumbled into Iggy’s jerkin before dropping his arms and running of to join the other boys.

It didn’t change the looks the other boys were giving Iggy, however. He sighed. There wasn’t anything he could do to change their minds other than continue to do what he had been doing. But knowing that the Boys no longer trusted him stung. He felt very much alone.


	15. Chapter 15

The sea wind pulled hairs loose from Hook’s ponytail, whipping them in the wind, irritating him. The breeze felt good, though, like home. This was home, after all. The seas of Neverland, where Pan couldn’t go, for whatever reason.

Hook had his theories. That the demon was linked to the island, somehow. He’d heard stories of faerie creatures of the land that were bound to trees or stones. But that didn’t play out, since he did visit other worlds at times (though usually he sent his shadow). That thought made Hook’s stomach roll with the waves, like it never had from seasickness.

He’d had a few days to stew since his confrontation with the demon. Hours of loneliness, interrupted only by the calls of seabirds and the smell of salt air. 

Pan had systematically ruined his life. With purpose. There was no questioning it, no dancing around the subject, no excuses to be made. The demon knew exactly what he was doing and acted with intent.

And his intentions were clear. To destroy Hook’s life entirely, to make him pay for his perceived betrayal. To tear apart anything that made the pirate happy, to drive him mad, to break him down and make him suffer.

Part of Hook felt like he deserved it.

After seeing that other boy’s loyalty, this batch’s Eldest, Iggy, part of Hook felt guilty. Pan hadn’t taken any new boys in months and, as far as he could tell, their mortality rate was much lower. If he had stayed with Pan, if he’d kept him amused and protected his Boys, would they still be alive today?

His mind knew that it wouldn’t have made a difference, not in the long run. The demon bored too easily. Eventually, Hook would’ve ceased to amuse him. Just like Iggy would. Then Pan would be back to his old ways, stealing children and making them into his image before killing them for outgrowing him. Molding malleable lives into his vessels then shattering them when they fell short.

Hook knew that subconsciously he was running from the fact that the only person to catch his eye in the real world was actually Pan’s shadow in disguise. Thinking back, he should’ve seen it. The mannerisms were the same even if the physical form wasn’t. Had the demon really wormed his way that deeply into Hook’s subconscious?

The pirate felt his stomach roll again and shoved that line of thought away. He didn’t want to think about Pan’s milk-and-honey skin or his rose petal lips or the graceful curve of his ribs or…

...or any of it!

He forced himself to focus on the problem at hand: killing Pan. And killing his little demon-in-training more properly this time.

When Hook had fled, he’d had little hope. The state of the Jolly Roger hadn’t helped his mood. The main sail had been pulled down and torn into shreds. The mizzen had still been smoking, smoldering embers fluttering in the wind. Clearly that boy, Iggy, had tried to set the ship itself ablaze from the telltale scorch marks on the deck, but the wood was protected and for good reason. Instead, the wheel had been smashed, several of the spokes broken and splintered. Hook’s bunk had been...defiled. The scent of Pan’s skin on his sheets had been driving him so mad that he’d taken to sleeping in the crew bunks instead.

He told himself it was simply anger.

The sickening feeling in his gut and the heat in his cheeks and groin told a different story, however. One he categorically denied.

Hook would kill Pan. And his little pet, too.

And he thought, perhaps, he had a chance.

After he’d escaped the demon’s clutches and made it safely back to his ship, he’d had a visitor. One that he hadn’t expected, not after he’d attacked their Eldest.

The large boy, who introduced himself as Tum Tum, had come looking for Hook. He’d been frightened, white-faced and trembling. Worried for the safety of the Boys. Worried because Peter was turning one of their own, their protector, into a monster too.

Hook had thought that perhaps the boy’s fears were a little blown out of proportion with emotion but he was never one to let an opportunity slip through his fingers.

He’d played the sympathetic ear, given the lad a stiff drink, applauded him for seeking help for his friends. For seeing the truth. Hook heaped praise upon Tum Tum’s intelligence and leadership ability and good sense.

It didn’t take long for the boy to agree to stand down. And ensure that the others did too.

They wouldn’t fight against Pan, for which the pirate didn’t really blame them, but they wouldn’t help him either. Which, if Hook could keep them present and looking on, might be demoralizing enough to give him an advantage. Not over the demon, of course, it would only fuel his rage.

But their Eldest, Iggy, might hesitate.

Which was all Hook could hope for.

Sure, he still didn’t know _how_ he’d kill Pan. Or if the little imp was even killable. But making things work by the skin of his teeth was one of his better talents.

He was confident that he’d figure it out.

With a decisive nod, he got back to repairing his ship.


	16. Chapter 16

Iggy woke with the chirping birds, high in Peter’s hammock hideaway. The elfin boy was curled up next to him, looking very small and sweet in slumber.

Iggy was struck, as he frequently was, by how beautiful Peter was. How inhumanly perfect. Tiny drops of dew glittered like gemstones in his curly mop of sandy hair. The curve of his body fit snugly against Iggy’s, Peter’s head resting on the young man’s arm felt as light as a feather. Long, elegant fingers twined with Iggy’s broader, calloused hand.

Sighing in contentment, Iggy leaned forward, ever so carefully, to lay a kiss against the tip of Peter’s pointed ear. Then another in that dew-kissed hair. A third against the graceful curve of the elf’s neck.

Peter stirred in his sleep, not quite waking, just enough to make a happy sort of noise and push himself back against Iggy’s protective warmth.

That brought a smile to Iggy’s face. He snuggled the elfin boy closer, kissing his shoulders before nuzzling against his neck.

“What are you doing?” Peter murmured, the words all sleep-muddled and soft.

“Appreciating you,” Iggy breathed against the tender skin of the boy’s neck.

“Mmm,” Peter hummed. “I like it. Don’t stop.” He tilted his head to give the young man more to kiss, arching his back in a most enticing fashion.

Iggy was surprised. Usually the fae creature was distantly curious about his affection. He enjoyed it, probably, but the way a god would enjoy a tribute. It was a game to Peter, one that resulted in the attention and admiration that he craved.

“Ignatius…” Peter whined, moving his hand to Iggy’s thigh, his long fingers brushing against tickling hairs. Languorously, he turned in the larger boy’s arms, until they were facing each other. He kissed along Iggy’s jaw, his sharp teeth nipping at skin.

It was Iggy’s turn to whine. What had gotten into Peter?

After trailing his tongue up Iggy’s chin, Peter murmured against the other boy’s lips, “Ignatius, please. This is unbearable.” He looked up into the other boy’s eyes, all pleading and need.

“What is?” Iggy asked.

Peter squirmed in his arms. “This awful ache. Make it stop.” 

“Yes,” Iggy whispered. His head was getting foggy from Peter’s closeness, the sweet scent of him, his supple little body pressed against his own. “Yes, of course, Peter. Anything you want.”

“Mmm,” Peter nearly purred. “Anything. I like the sound of that.” His fingers tangled in Iggy’s hair, pulling their lips together, rough and demanding.

***

The sun was well up into the sky before Peter got bored of their games and wanted to go fishing.

“I’m going to catch the biggest fish in the whole ocean,” Peter said over his shoulder as he pulled on his leggings.

Iggy, feeling lazy and fuzzy-headed after the morning he’d had, simply smiled at the elfin boy’s childish enthusiasm.

“You don’t think I can!” Peter accused, turning, his chest still bare, to cross his arms in Iggy’s direction.

“Of course you can, Peter,” Iggy laughed. He stifled a yawn and stretched, realizing that he’d officially become too tall to fit comfortably in the treetop hammock, as his hands and feet both stuck out over the edges. “You can do anything you like. You’re Peter Pan.”

“Mmm,” the elfin boy hummed happily. “You’re right. I’m just glad you realize it so I don’t have to punish you.”

Iggy chuckled, not feeling an ounce of fear at Peter’s casual threats anymore. If he died, he died. It was coming sooner or later. Whether it was right this moment or a week Thursday didn’t really matter. All that mattered was the meantime. Keeping Peter happy, finding fulfillment in that pursuit, and keeping the Boys safe as a result.

His life was simple. And satisfying in its simplicity. Having a direct, straightforward purpose was a relief.

Which wasn’t something that Iggy ever expected to feel. Growing up as one of the Lost Boys, with every day a struggle for survival and amusement, had never given him a sense of direction. It was all the same. Hunting for food, scuffling with the other Boys, playing games with the vague awareness that failing to make them sufficiently violent would lead to Bad Things. It had been messy and noisy and desperate.

Things had changed so much in the past months. Since Oliver’s death.

He looked over at Peter, who was pulling his jerkin over his head, looking very much the part of a child as his head poked out, curly hair all fluffy from the process. Those hands had killed his friend. More than one of his friends.

But Peter couldn’t help what he was. He hadn’t asked to be a monster.

Some creatures simply are.

The elven boy pushed his long fingers through his hair, smoothing it down, then grinned at Iggy. His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Race you to the bottom,” Peter said.

To Iggy’s surprise, Peter swung himself over the edge of the hammock and began scrambling down the tree trunk like a squirrel, instead of flying.

The young man shrugged and hauled himself to his feet to follow.

***

They fished on the side of the island opposite the beach where Hook’s ship had been anchored.

Thinking back, a fierce grin curved Iggy’s lips.

He’d enjoyed the havoc he’d wrought on the pirate’s ship. Watching the sail burn had filled him with righteousness. Smashing the wheel had been the most pure catharsis. He hadn’t even been aware of Peter watching him, perplexed, as he swung the rock again and again, until his hands bled.

Iggy’s fingers moved to the strip of sailcloth still tied around his upper arm. The fabric was rough and dirty, just like the pirate it had belonged to.

What a beautiful trophy.

A victorious shout from Peter brought Iggy back to the present. The elfin boy was fighting with his fishing line. Iggy ran across the sand to help, wrapping his arms around Peter’s small frame to close his hands over the elf’s, bracing them both.

Peter pulled, yanking a bit too hard. He never had the patience to reel fish in properly. The line snapped, sending both boys tumbling onto the beach. Iggy did his best to brace the elfin boy’s fall with his larger body, with mixed success.

Peter sat up immediately, facing the sea, arms and legs both angrily crossed, looking furious.

Iggy stood and brushed the sand off of his scuffed elbows. “Don’t worry, Peter, you’ll get the next one,” he offered. He bend down to pick up the dropped spool of fishing line, wrapping up the trailing length.

“I didn’t need your help,” Peter snapped.

Tucking the neatly wound line into his pouch, Iggy replied, “I should’ve let the biggest fish in the whole ocean drag you under instead? I didn’t know you liked swimming that much.”

Peter leaned back, giving Iggy a nasty, upside-down look. “I didn’t gift you with immortality so I could spend the rest of eternity listening to your snide comments, Ignatius.”

Iggy shook his head, laughing, not really taking in Peter’s words. But the long, steady stare from the elfin boy got them to sink in.

He felt weak. His knees trembled and his stomach felt somehow both light enough to crawl out of his throat and heavy enough to weigh him down. Iggy shook his head, opened his mouth, shut it again, gestured helplessly, then simply said, “What?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that’s much to ask, do you? That my eternity not be plagued with your bratty attitude?” He grinned and it looked strange, distorted since he was still regarding the young man while upside-down, bent backward like a reed. “Especially since I have forever to make you regret it.”

For the first time in months, the smallest thread of fear hummed in Iggy’s heart, cold and sickening.

“Is something wrong, Ignatius? You look less pretty than usual.” Peter finally got to his feet, turning, stepping close to Iggy, head tilted and a vague look of concern on his inhuman features.

“No,” Iggy murmured. He cleared his throat and with more conviction added, “No, nothing’s wrong, Peter. I just don’t want to make you angry, that’s all.”

Peter smiled and it was like the sun breaking through clouds.


	17. Chapter 17

Days passed. Hook sailed the waters of Neverland as he had for decades, centuries. The mermaids called to him, with their beguiling smiles and razor teeth, hungry for the flesh of the man who had evaded them for so long.

Once or twice, he thought that it might not be such a bad way to die. To be torn to shreds by beautiful women while the sea filled his lungs. It certainly would be a fitting end for an old pirate.

Unfortunately, he had something to accomplish first. The culmination of his life, the purpose for which he now existed, the crescendo of years of torture at the hands of the imp, the demon, Peter Pan.

He hated that his mind shied away from planning the final act.

Hook had loved Pan, once, long ago. That love had turned into a burning obsession, a guiding flame of anger toward which he steered his ship without fail. Even from across the veil between realms. He couldn’t rest until Pan was dead at his feet.

Would it really fix everything, though?

Pan’s death would surely stop the abduction of children by a forest demon bent on malice and excitement.

But would it allow Hook to finally find peace?

He doubted it. Removing Pan from the equation would simply give him no end goal, nothing to work toward. His life would be hollow and meaningless without the imp’s sparkling laughter and sadistic grin. He knew that as surely as he knew every inch of the _Jolly Roger_.

Then, after Pan was gone, put into the ground where he belonged, Hook could join the mermaids and finally be one with the sea.

***

The _Jolly Roger_ eased up to the dock on the far side of the island. Why either of the two docks that were on Neverland existed was anyone’s guess. As far as Hook could tell, they’d always been there. They were certainly well-worn and barnacle-covered. Peter didn’t have any idea where they came from and if Peter didn’t know, it was likely that no one did.

Had Hook been a more introspective sort, he might have felt some unease at Neverland’s murky origins. As it was, though, he was too busy fighting down the rising tide of anxiety inside of him.

He knew what he needed to do.

Whether or not he could look into Pan’s face and do it was another matter entirely.

He didn’t trust himself around the demon. He’d been manipulated before. Many times. Not just into falling in love with the little beast. Attacks he’d planned, strikes he’d made...they all seemed to play into Pan’s hands in the long run.

He should’ve learned his lesson when he’d rescued Smee and Tock.

Hook sighed and pulled off his hook, rubbing at the stump.

At least Smee had been steadfast, rest his soul.

He wondered vaguely if the mermaids had gotten Tock before he drowned. Walking the plank had seemed like such a fitting punishment for betrayal.

The wooden mooring came close to the _Jolly Roger_ ’s hull. After dropping anchor, Hook swung himself over the side of the ship, not bothering with the docking board, and landed solidly on the aged wooden planks. He tried to convince himself that he was walking with purpose, a swaggering figure of distinction and determination, but his stomach was the kind of queasy it had never been on the sea.

As soon as his boot crunched onto the sandy beach, he felt a ripple flow outward, faint but unmistakable. The island itself letting Pan know that he’d arrived. He knew he’d never have the element of surprise, not here, not in Neverland.

Waves lapped at the shore, trying to reach his heels even as he walked away from the coast.

_Come back to us_ , they gurgled plaintively.

“Oh, I will. Don’t you worry about that,” Hook said.

The seawater sighed in pleasure.

The finality of it all helped steel Hook’s spine.


	18. Chapter 18

“Your mother loved you, you know,” Peter commented idly. He was sitting cross-legged on his favorite rock, weaving bits of grass and flowers into a crown.

Iggy, sitting on the ground at Peter’s feet, looked up at the elfin boy. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Peter tilted his head. “Telling you about your mother. I thought you’d like to know. Though maybe I should save it, since we’ll run out of things to talk about eventually. Eternity is like that.”

“Why?” Iggy asked sharply.

The grin on Peter’s face was cruelly beautiful. “I told you once, I’ve told them all, that you become a Lost Boy when you’re unloved. It’s not true.”

“I didn’t think it was,” Iggy replied. “Lies come as easily to you as songs to a bird.”

Peter laughed. “Listen to you, Ignatius! I give you everlasting life and you repay me with rudeness. You’re lucky that I like you.” He reached out one elegant hand and petted Iggy’s hair before setting back to work on his crown.

“I like you too, Peter,” Iggy said, already regretting that the elf’s hands were elsewhere. He let his eyes roam over the Lost Boys, playing in the clearing, watching for signs of trouble.

“I know you do, Ignatius. That’s why I trust you. You don’t fear me and you’re not blind. You’re rude because you’re honest,” said Peter casually, like he wasn’t really paying attention to his own words.

Iggy glanced up at him again. Sure enough, the elfin boy was completely focused on his flower crown. A bit of pink tongue peeked out from his rose petal lips in concentration as deft fingers wove stems and blades of grass. Iggy’s heart swelled. Peter looked so innocent at times.

Which, really, he supposed he was. For all the experience one surely gained over millennia of existence, Peter had never lost his childlike wonder at the most mundane things. It was simply a matter of figuring out which thing had his attention, to avoid boring him.

Iggy took a half-blossomed orange daisy out of the pile of flowers he’d personally gathered that morning. It was only a shade or two lighter than his hair. He rolled the stem in his fingers, watching the petals twirl, before handing it up to Peter.

Peter took it with an absent-minded smile and added it to the crown. “There was a search party and everything. Dogs. Posters. It was really rather amusing,” he commented.

“I _wouldn’t_ like to know, actually,” Iggy said. He leaned to rest his cheek against Peter’s knee. “It doesn’t matter. This is my life. And I’m glad that it is.”

“Good boy,” Peter said happily. He placed the crown of flowers on Iggy’s head.

A rush of acceptance and love flowed over and through the young man like a warm shiver. Immediately on its heels came a different sensation, one that thrummed through the ground below him, a warning.

Iggy sat up, looking around, alarmed without really knowing why.

“What it is, Ignatius? Don’t you like the gift I made for you?” Peter asked, pouting, with fury building in his eyes.

“I love it, Peter.” Iggy’s reassurances were starting to come so reflexively that he barely noticed them. “But there’s...something.” He closed his eyes, trying to calm the pounding of his heart so he could _listen_. There, in the distance, right on the edge of his...hearing? Was he hearing it? Or was it a feeling in his bones? The sound of boots in the sand. “Someone is here. On the island.”

Peter’s eyes lit up with vicious joy. “ _James_.”


	19. Chapter 19

Hook made his way through the Dark Forest. The going was slow. The trees seemed to have shifted since the last time he’d been in those parts, which was strange in itself, since Neverland didn’t change. But the paths that he’d walked a thousand times, so often that he’d thought he could navigate them blindly, were slightly _off_. More than once, he stepped on a stone that was in the wrong place, or ran into an unexpected branch.

He didn’t like it. Furthermore, it was not helping his rising nerves.

He’d lived most of his life chasing his next adventure. Pursuing the adrenaline that came with danger and fear. But this was different. There was no thrill in the mission he was on.

Not for the first time, Hook found himself questioning if he was doing the right thing.

He knew that the doubts that wormed in his belly were planted by the demon himself. How else could he worry about killing such an evil creature?

He swung his sword, hacking at a vine that hung a few feet to the left of where it was supposed to be.

Eventually, he found himself near to the Lost Boys’ camp. He was still, though he knew it wouldn’t matter, and listened. The sounds of the boys playing - laughter, shouts, cries of pain - reached his ears. The imp hadn’t stopped their games. They were being allowed to play blithely on...but why?

There was no guard posted, either. Their patrol would’ve taken them past Hook’s hiding place by now.

Hook’s dark eyebrows drew together in confusion and concern. Pan was being unpredictable, which did not bode well.

The only thing he could think was that his Eldest, the one that seemed to have his ear for the time being, was influencing him.

Pan wasn’t one to be influenced.

What did the lad have that Hook himself hadn’t possessed?

Hook shook himself, pushing that unpleasant little thought away. Why should he care? He was there to kill Pan, not steal him back.

Steal him _back_?

Stomach rolling again, Hook held his head high and stepped into the clearing.

***

The Lost Boys froze as Hook strode into their camp. They exchanged looks, darting glances at Tum Tum, then bunched together at the far side of the clearing, away from the pirate, out of apparent fear.

Their Eldest, Iggy, was already on his feet when Hook appeared, standing in front of the demon, arms crossed and face set in stone.

The lad still had the strip of sailcloth from the _Jolly Roger_ tied around his upper arm, right above his bicep. Warpaint, all black and red, made patterns on his face. His orange hair looked like a mane of flames in his anger.

The entire picture was set slightly off-kilter by the circlet of flowers that crowned him.

Pan peeked around his protector, grinning.

“You aren’t welcome here, pirate. Go back where you came from before I make you regret it,” Iggy called. He squared his shoulders, clearly ready and willing to fight.

Hook drew his sword. “If I have to cut you down to get to the demon you protect, then so be it, child.”

In one smooth motion, Pan rolled to his feet and moved to stand in between them. “Now, now, James, there’s no need for that,” he said, though his eyes were twinkling eagerly at the potential violence.

Iggy stepped forward, dagger drawn. “Peter, I must insist that you stay behind me. This… _beast_...wants to kill you.” The disdain was clear in his voice. But so was the fear.

Hook laughed. “He’s right, you know,” he said, keeping his attention on the demon, the real threat.

“Oh, James, let’s not pretend you could actually kill me.” Pan took a couple of steps closer, making his Eldest frown. “Even if I was able to be killed, which I’m not, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, could you?” He smiled one of his sunshine-smiles and tilted his head. “Even now, your hand shakes.”

Hook forced himself to stand a little straighter, tilting his chin up. His hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, forcing it to be still.

Pan slid in closer still, until he was just barely out of Hook’s reach. “You think of the times we enjoyed together, all of the wonders I showed you, the beauty and terror of it all. You need me, James. You’ve always needed me.”

Letting out a shuddering breath, Hook said, “No.”

He didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

Which just made him angry.

“Peter, please!” Iggy pleaded. He crossed the space between them and gave the imp’s tunic a tug. “I have to keep you safe,” he added as an explanation. Shockingly, Pan let himself be pulled.

The demon glared petulantly up at his Eldest. “Ignatius, don’t you understand? James can’t hurt me. He won’t. He never has and never will. He thinks he’s a pirate but he’s really just an overgrown coward of a Lost Boy, one that I let live because his attempts at defiance amuse me. He owes me his existence.”

“I know, Peter.” The lad reached out a hand to push the demon’s unruly hair back, tucking it behind one pointed ear. The casual intimacy of the gesture was like a punch in Hook’s stomach. “You’re right, of course, you always are, but I can feel his hopelessness. It’s like an empty hole in his chest. He’s accepted his fate, Peter. It’s made him fearless.”

The Eldest’s words made Hook feel sick. It was one thing to decide on his own to end his life once Pan was gone; it was quite another to hear it said so matter-of-factly. He wondered if Iggy could see his submission to the inevitable because he had done the same.

Pan nuzzled into the lad’s hand like an affectionate cat marking its territory before turning his attention back to Hook, head tilted curiously. One eyebrow quirked. “Interesting,” he said with all the enthusiasm that a child might at a boring lesson. “That does change things.” Pan stepped back, behind Iggy. Coldly, dismissively, he ordered, “Kill him, Ignatius.”

“It would be my pleasure, Peter.” Iggy squared off with Hook, grinning fiercely. “Time to die, pirate.”

Hook had known he’d have to kill the Eldest to get at Pan. The boy wouldn’t stand down. But the others…

“Look, lad, even the other Lost Boys won’t fight for their demon prince. Why do you persist?” He gestured at the knot of boys still crowded in the corner of the clearing.

It worked. Iggy shot at look at the boys, _his_ boys, as they refused to get involved. In that split second of distraction, Hook lunged, his sword pointed directly at the lad’s heart.

Iggy brought his dagger to bear without seeming to even notice the pirate’s attack, batting it away with ease. His grin grew wider and his foot snapped out, a kick catching Hook on the side of his knee, throwing him off balance.

Hook caught himself with a stumble, pulling back, adopting a more defensive stance. Iggy rushed in, ducking under the pirate’s guard, slamming his shoulder into the man’s gut. A woof came from Hook, leaving him gasping.

The Eldest half-spun, his dagger arcing through the air, cutting a shallow line in the pirate’s swarthy cheek.

It stung, more of an indignity than an injury.

Hook realized that the lad was toying with him.

With an angry shout, he lunged again, feigning left then striking right, only to find Iggy’s dagger there before he could close the last few inches between his steel and the lad’s flesh. Without pause, he turned, his coat twirling out with the motion, and struck at the boy’s other side.

Iggy dodged, laughing. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted. He looked hale and healthy and like he was enjoying himself.

Hook had seen that look during battle before but he couldn’t quite place it, not then, not while he was defending against the Eldest’s sudden, ruthless attack.

Distantly, Hook realized that the demon was watching the fight with a look at detached amusement on his perfect face. Like he’d watched untold thousands of battles between Lost Boys, fought for fun or favor.

Hook wondered which one of those he was fighting for, because he certainly wasn’t enjoying himself.

The two combatants circled each other. Hook felt himself starting to get winded. Sweat trickled down his face. He couldn’t let himself get tired out fighting the boy when he still had the demon to defeat. He needed to end this fight fast.

Hook sank to one knee, hand on the ground, as if he was tired. When the lad came in for the killing blow, as he knew he would, the pirate threw a handful of dirt in his face which he followed swiftly with his blade. The steel slid into the lad’s chest easily.

Iggy stumbled. Blood gouted out of the wound as Hook pulled his sword back.

Already plotting his attack on the imp, Hook was startled to see the Eldest waver on his feet for a split second, then right himself. The lad cocked his head, a confused look on his face, then laughed, victorious and proud.

Hook’s eyes went wide. Already the wound in Iggy’s chest was knitting itself shut.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, pirate? I’m everything you could never be,” Iggy said. His fist snapped out, catching Hook on the jaw, sending him reeling. The boy’s hand closed around his throat, pulling him close. “I’ve done everything you couldn’t. I’ve kept the Boys safe. I’ve entertained Peter...in more ways than you could imagine.” He pulled Hook’s face close and whispered, “His pleasure tastes amazing, by the way.”

Hook snarled, unwilling to react to the lad’s obvious attempt to enrage him but unable to control it.

Iggy dropped his grip, tossing the pirate to the ground disdainfully. “Pathetic.”

Somewhere in the background, Pan slid closer, no doubt eager to see the killing blow.

“And because I’m better than you, you filthy, faithless creature, I think you’ll find that I’m no longer so easy to kill,” Iggy added. He held his dagger up, eyeing its edge.

The gears in Hooks brain spun so quickly that he felt dizzy, the spokes not catching, just rotating wildly. Then _click, click, click_ , the pieces fell into place.

Without considering his action, without giving himself a chance to think, Hook thrusted his sword.

But not at the lad.

With the sudden movement, too quick and unexpected to be defended against, the pirate’s trusted blade darted across Pan’s throat, laying it open.

Dark blood poured from the wound.

The demon looked...surprised.

Pan’s knees gave out. Iggy caught him as he stumbled.

“ _NO_!” the lad shouted.

Hook had never heard more pain in one simple word.


	20. Chapter 20

Iggy cradled Peter’s head like a fragile treasure, the elfin boy’s slender body draped across his lap.

“No...no, no, no…” He realized he was rambling but he didn’t care. “Peter? Peter? You have to be alright, Peter. You can’t be killed. You’re Peter Pan. You never lose. Peter Pan never loses and never dies.”

Peter smiled up at him with blood-stained teeth, still so incredibly beautiful. His eyes looked faded, like seaglass made dull by the years.

Another rush of blood poured from his lily throat, painting his green jerkin a dark, sickening reddish-brown. The elf looked pained, an expression Iggy had never seen on him before.

“I…” Peter’s voice was small. Broken. Uncertain. He looked...frightened and confused.

It broke Iggy’s heart.

He ran his thumb back and forth across Peter’s cheek, over and over, half soothing, half hoping the roughness of his callouses would keep the elfin boy with him. His breath shook, turning into sad little gasps. “I don’t understand, Peter. You have to heal, you have to get better,” he pleaded.

He couldn’t lose Peter.

Peter was his life. His meaning. His world.

The boy’s rose petal lips worked, like he was trying to talk and couldn’t.

Iggy leaned in close, bringing his face near, their noses nearly touching. He knew his eyes were brimming with tears.

Peter looked lost. “I...I just wanted...to play…” he whispered, pain in his voice. Lack of comprehension. Childlike innocence stolen away by a pirate’s blade.

With a shudder, Peter Pan drew his last breath.

Iggy pulled him close, sobbing. He felt like his world was crumbling, like everything he’d worked for had been snatched away, the only person he’d ever loved stolen…

...by some filthy, pathetic pirate.

Tears still pouring down his face, making runnels in his warpaint, Iggy kissed Peter’s lifeless lips. Gently, he lowered the boy’s eyelids, never to look into his green glass orbs again. Ever so carefully, he eased out from under the elf’s body and stood.

Iggy reached up to remove the crown of daisies from his head and laid it on Peter’s chest. “I love you, Peter. And I will avenge you,” he said, deadly soft. So quickly that it was barely visible, he swooped down to retrieve his dagger and turned on Hook.

Hook looked stunned by his own actions. His sword was held loosely in his hand. A single tear streaked down his face as well.

“ _Traitor!_ ” Iggy shouted, pouring all of his anger and pain and hatred into the word. A rushing sound filled his ears.

The trees shivered, their leaves whispering a warning.

He knew without knowing that Hook planned to run, to escape to his ship, to end his life in the ocean’s embrace.

He wouldn’t give that filth the satisfaction.

Definitely _not_.

He took a step toward the pirate, then another.

That was enough to make Hook focus on his impending doom. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword even as his eyes darted around the clearing, looking for an escape route.

An escape that Iggy wouldn’t allow him to have.

In the back of his mind, a thought itched.

He wanted the pirate to _suffer_.

A vicious grin twisted his lips. Peter’s blood, dried on their surface from his farewell kiss, crackled and split, falling off in flakes.

The sobs of the Lost Boys were the only sound in the clearing.

Suddenly, Iggy knew how to hurt Hook. How to break him before he killed him. His eyes moved to the Lost Boys, huddled together, shaking and fearful. He’d start with Tum Tum, another traitor, the one who’d convinced the Boys, his Boys!, to stand down.

A traitor was inexcusable.

He took a step toward the Boys.

The leaves above him shook in the dead air, their rustling like faint thunder.

Iggy forced himself to stop. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Pirate. Take the boys and leave. Now.”

“What?” Hook asked, more than a little suspiciously.

Of course the pirate was suspicious. He’d been the target of Peter’s games for too long.

“You faithless fool!” Iggy snapped. He could almost feel his anger rolling off of his skin like a breeze no one else could feel, shaking the leaves overhead, thrumming through the earth below.

The Lost Boys cowered.

They looked very much like prey. And hunting each of them through the woods as they scattered and fled would be such a fun game.

Iggy felt the last threads of his humanity snapping.

“ _RUN!_ ”

Hook didn’t ask again. He’d seen the look on Iggy’s face before. Too many times. He bolted across the clearing toward the Lost Boys who, to their credit, were already disappearing into the woods in the direction of the coast.

A swirl of leaves, dirt, and debris tossed up around Iggy’s feet. Feet that crawled with the urge to run after them, to bound through the forest, his forest, wild and free, hunting them down like rabbits.

He forced himself to stay still by will alone.

He didn’t move until he felt the pirate’s boots leave the island, knowing that the rogue would get the boys onto his ship before boarding himself.

Iggy screamed, pain and fury tearing through him. The island trembled. The last bit of his humanity slipped away.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Epilogue_

There had always been a Peter Pan. An eternal forest spirit, driven by the boredom of eons. There always would be.

Iggy knew that in his heart. Peter, his Peter, hadn’t been the first Peter. He didn’t know anything about the ones that came before but he supposed it didn’t really matter.

He’d been alone for years now. Decades, maybe. It was hard to tell. Time moved a little differently in Neverland. He’s canvassed every inch of the island, changing things to his specifications. One of the docks was gone. The trees were in different places. Blood lillies bordered the clearing, never blooming.

He’d buried Peter underneath his thinking tree. The hammock was adorned with glittering seaglass, vines, and sunshine - a tribute and shrine to his lost love.

Sometimes Iggy sat in the hammock and wept.

But not today.

Today, Iggy was in one of the real worlds, the one he’d come from.

Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.

Today, he sat on a park bench in a place called New York, thumbing through the morning paper.

And there it was, in the obituaries, something he’d been waiting for. An event that had echoed through the space between worlds. Closure.

The paper read:

_In memory of James Hook, succeeded by his adopted children: Aloysius “Alley”, Mikhail, and Dirk Hook. Remembered fondly by his dear friends. Now forever with the sea that he so loved. Rest in peace._

Hook had foregone his intended suicide and taken care of the Boys. Some of them had gone to other homes. Some had been old enough to go off on their own. Alley and Mikhail had been deemed unadoptable, so Hook had kept them. Dirk had begged not to be given away, once they had been unsuccessful at finding his real family, so Hook kept him too.

Dirk hadn’t been taken from this realm, but the pirate had no way of knowing that.

Iggy folded the paper neatly and sat it next to him on the bench.

With Hook dead and his Boys raised, he could go back to Neverland, never to return again. The Boys weren’t children anymore, after all. They didn’t need Christmas presents from the mysterious figure with the long red hair.

Iggy kept his hair long because that’s how Peter had liked it.

He sighed, intending on going home. He’d go fishing, maybe. Or sit at Peter’s graveside and talk to him. Tell him about Hook’s death. That while his vengeance had failed, old age had caught up with the pirate. That after Peter’s death, his curse had lifted.

The squalling of an upset child reached his ears. Iggy perked up quite involuntarily.

A small boy, no more than four or five, was screaming for his mother’s attention, tugging at her jacket, red in the face with the effort.

The mother was ignoring him, tapping away on her phone.

The boy screamed again and swung one small foot to kick his mother in the shin.

That got her attention. She scolded him and pushed him in the direction of the playground before turning her eyes back to her phone screen.

The child crossed his arms and stomped toward the jungle gym, angry tears on his red apple cheeks.

Another child tried to invite him to play.

The boy bit her.

Iggy found himself smiling, watching the interaction.

For the first time in a long time, he felt the urge.

Iggy’s feet carried him over to the boy. He found himself extending his hand, which was suddenly filled with little star-shaped candies the exact shade of blue of the strange drink his Peter had favored.

The urge was strong. He couldn’t fight it anymore.

He wanted to _play_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading through to the end! Remember: all you need is a little faith, trust, and pixie dust!


End file.
